Arthur Goes Fifth VIII: The Other Side of the Coin
by Dead Composer
Summary: Ever wonder what your life would be like if things were a little...different? Binky didn't.
1. Fresh from the Battle

"Arthur Goes Fifth VIII: The Other Side of the Coin"

Disclaimer: I don't own Arthur. I don't own anything. I live in my parents' basement.

* * *

Earth is reeling from the invasion attempt of the Yordilians, catlike women who lost the male population of their planet to a rogue biological weapon, and sought to take the men of our world for their own. Only a stratagem devised by Sue Ellen (herself a Yordilian), with a little help from Doctor Who, succeeded in thwarting the invasion, which was masterminded by Sue Ellen's parents. The interplanetary Alliance, which turned a blind eye to the assault on Earth due to a conspiracy at its highest levels, has now offered to assist in the reconstruction of Earth's ruined infrastructure. The existence of space aliens is now an indisputable fact, although in the mind of the average human, his or her chances of ever meeting one haven't improved much.

The Crosswires, having been relocated to the vast alien city Elci Kahaf as part of an interstellar witness protection program, fell in love with the locale and attempted to settle permanently. After the Earth-Yordil conflict was settled, however, their membership in the program was terminated, and they were deported to their home world. Muffy's only souvenir from her visit is an optical fiber dress that displays a real-time image of her face—and at the moment, that image is a sullen one.

The Brain has a new pet—a paraplegic Shih Tzu who calls himself The Professor. He is in actuality the telepathic leader of the X-Pets, a band of canine mutants dedicated to the protection of dogs everywhere (and humans, when their interests coincide). In addition, Alan's older sister Tegan has awoken from a coma of several weeks, and is recuperating with her family. Once able to mind-meld with other people, and even effect changes to their personalities, she has now lost that ability.

The Coopers, fed up with the unending stream of bizarre occurrences that seems to be characteristic of Elwood City life, have moved to a new home on the outskirts of Crown City. The straw that broke the camel's back was the magical transformation of son Van from a duck boy in a wheelchair into a unicorn girl who could walk. Van (now known as Vanessa) is pleased with the change, as it brings with it a lengthened lifespan and the ability to talk to animals.

* * *

The story begins in the past tense, as Catherine Frensky, dismissed from her military training after the destruction of Fort Lee by the Yordilians, arrived at her family's small apartment dressed head to toe in military fatigues. To younger sister Francine she was an awe-inspiring image: _When I grow up, I want to be just like her—the boots, the green clothes, the bobbed hair. No frilly dresses for me, thanks._

Catherine's pose was rigid, her lips set as straight as a row of soldiers. _I'm home again_, she muttered to herself. _No one to give orders. No one to tell me what to do with my life. I am so, so lost._

"You look great, Cath," said Francine. "I'll bet you could beat me at arm-wrestling now."

"I could beat you _before_, Frankie," said Catherine flatly.

Mrs. Frensky greeted her teenage daughter with joy. "Come in, dear," she said sweetly. "I've made your favorite, matzoh balls."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," said the girl, taking an orderly step into the apartment. "Just what I need—some more hand grenades to lob."

Francine matched her stride like an eager puppy. "What're you going to do now, Cath?" she inquired. "I hear the Alliance is looking to enlist some humans for its interplanetary peacekeeping missions."

"No, thanks," said Catherine. "I've seen the movie. Co-ed showers and giant bugs? Not my thing."

She loped into the kitchen, picked up one of her mother's delicacies, and bit into the crunchy surface. "Your father's out making his rounds," Mrs. Frensky told her. "He says the sanitation department has some openings, if you need a job right away."

"Lovely, Mom," said Catherine with less-than-subtle sarcasm. "Just lovely."

Mrs. Frensky laid a friendly arm around her daughter's leafy shoulders. "I'm really sorry, dear," she said. "I know that you saw the Army as a way out of this life, but now…"

"Now _what?_" said Catherine peevishly. "There's no Army left, no Air Force, no Marines…nothing. They wiped it all out. I didn't even get a chance to fight them—I spent the whole time cowering in the bunker, convinced that the mess cook was trying to poison me."

Francine, at a loss for anything meaningful to say, simply wrapped her arms around her sister's midsection. "So," Catherine asked her in an attempt to lighten the mood, "what have you and Muffy been up to lately?"

"Nothing," replied Francine, her voice muffled by the older girl's fatigues. "She's not my friend anymore. She's not _anybody's_ friend anymore. All she cares about is leaving Elwood City and moving to someplace more exciting."

* * *

In the condo where the Crosswires lived, Muffy confronted her father with seriousness. "Daddy," she stated, "I think we should move to the Latin Quarter of Paris and become starving artists. Think about it before you answer, okay?"

* * *

"And she wears that stupid optical dress every day," Francine went on. "She never washes it. 'It washes itself,' she says." The monkey girl sighed bitterly. "Anyway, I'm hanging with Jenna now. She's cool."

"Actually," mused Catherine, "being a starving artist in the Latin Quarter of Paris isn't such a bad idea, compared to my other options."

A guest suddenly appeared at the door, strolling inside without knocking. He was a tall, nearly bald, monkey man in his early twenties, sporting a black leather jacket and a bouquet of posies in his left hand. "Hi, everybody," he said with a bashful grin.

Catherine's eyes widened like moons. "Mitch!" she exclaimed with delight.

* * *

To be continued 


	2. Heads or Tails?

Catherine and Mitch almost collided as they hurried to embrace and kiss each other. "I…brought you…some…flowers," said Mitch during the brief periods when Catherine's lips weren't planted on his.

"They're beautiful," said the girl, hugging him tighter. "What's with the crew cut? You look like Curious George."

"Thought I'd get it cut Army style as a show of solidarity," said Mitch.

Francine gazed wistfully as the two young people chewed on each other's lips. _He's so handsome_, she thought. _If only I was his age again._

"Hey, Mitch," she ventured to ask. "Have you published any novels yet?"

"No, Frankie," he said over Catherine's shoulder. "I'm still driving a taxi around. It's menial work, but it gives me plenty of time to develop plots in my head."

"Have a matzoh ball," said Mrs. Frensky, passing a tray in his direction.

"Thanks, Mrs. F," said Mitch, who promptly grabbed two of the balls and began to juggle them. "Nutritious _and_ entertaining."

* * *

Her hands braced against a metal walker, Tegan Powers took mincing steps across her family's kitchen. "I can feel the strength coming back to my legs," she told her brother Alan in a weak voice. "By this time next week, I'll be dancing the lambada."

Alan, seated at the table with a Shih Tzu cradled in his lap, was taken aback by her boast. "The lambada…? But don't you need a man?"

"_You're_ a man," said Tegan hoarsely.

Her brother grimaced. "Uh, I think you've got your dances mixed up. How about the Macarena? That one's fun."

_Alan? Alan!_

He jerked his eyes downward. The Professor, his brown, shaggy eyes wide open, was sending him another telepathic message. "What is it, boy?" he inquired.

_I don't know yet_, said the calm male voice. _I'm feeling the presence of a mind…a powerful mind…one that may be as powerful as my own!_

Several blocks away, a bored-looking aardvark boy sat behind one of the tables on the patio of the Muffin Man coffee shop. With one hand he took an occasional, lazy bite of his chocolate cruller. With the other he flipped a quarter again and again. _Heads_, he thought. _Heads, heads, heads…_

The coin came up heads in his palm every time. Ten times…twenty times…fifty…

_Okay, that's enough of heads. Tails_. He tossed the coin vigorously, caught it in the air, and opened his fingers. The tails side of the coin faced him. He wasn't surprised.

* * *

To be continued 


	3. A Modest Proposal

Of her many talents, Francine was especially proud of her ability to snore convincingly. "Frankie," her sister whispered in the darkness. "Frankie, are you awake?" She was.

She went on making guttural noises with her sinuses, almost unconsciously, as the sounds of joyful romance wafted to her ears through the closed door. It was her favorite part of the evening, and well worth losing sleep.

"You look worried, Cath," she heard Mitch say between smacking noises. "What's eating you?"

Catherine moaned, half out of pleasure, half out of frustration. "I'm worried about my future," she admitted.

"One word," her boyfriend said softly. "Plastics."

Catherine's response was a giggle. "I'm serious, Mitch. What's there to do in Elwood City for a girl like me?"

"Well, there's McDonald's," Mitch suggested. "Or maybe Chicken Licken."

"Forget it, mister," said Catherine as the Frenskys' cat, Nemo, hopped onto the couch nearby. "I can't see myself in one of those silly striped uniforms. 'Would you like cancer with that?'"

"There's telemarketing," said Mitch. "You have people skills, right?"

"Yeah," said Catherine. "I get along fine with people, up until I try to sell them stuff."

She sighed. Francine heard her sigh. _Poor Cath_, she thought. _If only she'd done better in school, she'd be in college right now. Is there a lesson I'm supposed to take from this? Naw…_

The young lovers embraced each other deeply, stroking each other's cheeks with their lips. Nemo gazed at them, his face inscrutable. _They're mating fully clothed again_, thought the striped cat. _Humans have such strange customs._

"I have another idea," Mitch whispered into his girlfriend's ear. "You could find a nice boy, get married, settle down."

"Yeah, I could do that," said Catherine. "But where would I find a nice boy in this town?"

"Nowhere," said Mitch. "I guess you'll have to settle for me."

Catherine's raucous chuckling was quickly cut short.

"Will you marry me?"

Francine heard a faint gasp, and nearly gasped herself. _Omigosh, omigosh!_ she thought with alarm.

"Mitch?" said Catherine hesitantly. "Did you…did you just propose?"

"Yeah," replied the young man. "I totally think we should get married."

_If Cath gets married, I'll have the room to myself_, thought Francine. _I've always known this day would come._

"Yes, Mitch, I _will_ marry you," uttered Catherine's ecstatic voice.

"Oh, Catherine, you've made me the happiest man in the entire space-time continuum!" Mitch gushed.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" said Catherine.

"Yes!" said Mitch.

_Yeeeessssss!_ thought Francine.

* * *

Odette Cooper was more than thirteen and a half years old, and her neck had grown to the point that she had to bend it into an uncomfortable arc in order to view the television. _I wish Dad would raid the college fund and buy a big-screen TV_, she thought idly. _Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see any of that money._

On the small screen, a panel of several judges reviewed the performance of a girl with spiky hair and a strapless dress. "You was all right, dawg," said a male judge. "Your song touched me..right here," said a female judge, pointing at her low-cut neckline. "Where did you get that bulge in your throat?" asked the foremost of the judges, a man who spoke with a British accent. "It looks like an adam's apple. I have no comments on your singing ability. Goodbye."

Odette's older brother Logan strolled into the living room, wearing a ragged T-shirt, his hair having grown around his ears. "I don't know how you can watch that trash," he chided the swan girl. "Those contestants are all, like, pathetic wannabes, and those stupid panelists are just looking for the next Whitney Spears."

"_Some_ of them have talent," said Odette lazily. "And that's more than I can say for you."

"This song is dedicated to my son," said the waiflike girl on the TV screen.

"At least I'm not a wannabe," said Logan. "I have a unique voice—I make up my own guitar riffs."

"Rock on, dude," said Vanessa, a horse-faced girl with flowing brown hair.

The teenage duck boy wandered into the kitchen, looked over the intricate structure of popsicle sticks that Vanessa was assembling, and then looked at her. "If you stand up all the time, your feet will get fat," he said wisely. "At least that's what Grandma Elaine says."

"That's okay," said Vanessa indifferently. "I lost three shoe sizes when I turned into a girl. Besides, I _like_ standing."

Baby Megan, as she stood unsteadily on the carpet and toyed with the leaves of a potted hydrangea, made an ominous noise and began to cry. "Hey, Vanessa," said Odette loudly. "You may have lost three shoe sizes, but you _gained_ something."

"What's that?" asked the young girl.

"Baby duties." Odette waved her hand toward Megan. "It's your turn to change her diaper."

Vanessa grumbled as she laid down the glue and sticks in her hands. Already the odor was offending her enormous nostrils, making her long for the relative scent-deafness of a duck bill.

She reached out to open the door to the closet, where the all-important diapers and safety pins were stored. As she touched the knob, the mirror installed in the door revealed to her that someone was peering into their house through the dingy picture window. The stranger quickly disappeared, but the woman's sparkling eyes, grateful smile, and familiar-looking visage remained in Vanessa's mind. _That face…what is it about that face?_

Then, to the surprise of the Cooper children, the front door burst open without a knock. Vanessa whirled, and saw not one but _two_ adults with wide, elongated noses and horselike ears—noses and ears that reminded her of _herself_, or the unicorn creature she had somehow become.

"Our parents aren't home," Odette told the visitors—but the woman, who wore a navy blue dress and what looked like a curly wig, and the formally dressed man marched past her without an acknowledgment. Their sights, their smiles, and their grasping fingers were set on Vanessa alone.

"My _darling!_" cried the woman, sinking to her knees. Before Vanessa had a chance to wonder why this mysterious couple had any interest in her, a strong pair of arms swept her into an even stronger hug. One maternally charged kiss after another landed on her fuzzy cheeks, and she feared she would suffocate.

"Lisa, my precious," said the man, his voice choked with emotion. "I can't tell you how much we worried. We thought for sure you were dead."

Odette bolted to her feet, her head nearly striking the ceiling. "_Lisa?_" she exclaimed at an outraged pitch.

"That's not my name!" Vanessa protested, but the long-nosed woman only caressed her more vigorously.

"Judas H. Priest," marveled Logan, afraid to walk closer. "Are they…your _real_ parents?"

"No, they're not!" said Vanessa.

"Yes, we are," said the woman in a sugary tone. "Oh, yes, we are, snookums."

"Have these people hurt you at all?" asked the man with a suspicious sideways glance at Odette and Logan.

"Not _yet,_" said the duck boy, glaring angrily. "You lied to us. You made us think you were Van. It was all a _lie._"

"Where is he?" shrieked Odette, her beak pointed at Vanessa's terrified face. "Where's my brother? _Where's Van?_"

* * *

to be continued 


	4. Boy of Steel

Being able to walk was of no help to Vanessa as the rude stranger seized her around the waist with his long arms, lifting her off the floor. "Let go of me, you kidnapper!" she screamed, wriggling uselessly.

"No more games, Lisa," said the man firmly. "We're taking you home—that is, unless either of you has a good reason why we shouldn't."

Logan and Odette both shook their heads blankly. "She's all yours," said the swan girl. "But before you leave, we ought to get your names, in case Mom, or Dad, or the police want to talk to you about Van."

"Yes, of course," said the woman, drawing a small card from her plaid handbag. Logan took it from her hand and read aloud the name, _Guida von Horstein_. "I run a beauty products store," she told him. "You can reach me after hours on my cell."

Her husband turned toward the door as a pair of small fists flailed at his chin. "Don't let them take me, Odette!" Vanessa pleaded. "We're sisters! We stick up for each other!"

"Shut up, _Lisa,_" snapped the swan girl.

Not one soul stepped forward to help Vanessa, who felt tears rain from her eyes while the strange man and his grinning wife carted her away. When they were halfway to the blue Nissan Versa parked at the curb, she noticed a hairy black cat sitting atop the lid of a plastic garbage bin, and felt a surge of relief. "Goodkitty!" she cried out. "I'm being kidnapped! Get help!"

The little animal rose up on her paws, stretched, and replied, "Couldn't you have waited until I was done with my nap?"

She hopped down from the trash bin, but the horse-faced man, having understood the exchange of meows, shot a baleful warning at the cat: "_Do not interfere._"

Goodkitty stopped in her tracks as if her blood had frozen solid. _They talk to animals, like I do_, realized Vanessa. The man's two-armed hold around her body became uncomfortably tight; there was nothing she hated more about being a girl than how it felt to be squished.

After they had forced her into the backseat of the Nissan Versa, the man took the wheel as his wife fastened a shoulder strap around the still-resisting unicorn girl. "Let me out of here!" Vanessa begged. "Why are you doing this? Where are you taking me?"

"To a place where you'll be well cared for, and happy," the woman answered. "I'm Guida von Horstein, and this is my husband, Arlos. We're your new parents."

"I already _have_ parents!" yelled Vanessa. Fear boiled up in her stomach as the Nissan Versa began to speed down the lane. (A/N: The Nissan Versa is a great car. Buy one today.)

"Don't be ridiculous," said Mrs. von Horstein. "How can a family of waterfowl give you what you need? You're one of _our_ kind—a unicorn."

Taking a handkerchief from her purse, she applied it to Vanessa's nostrils and cleared away the dribbling mucus. _I've never met other unicorns before_, the girl thought. _Maybe they have something important to teach me. Maybe I can do more than just talk to animals…_

"Will…will I ever see my family again?" she asked the couple.

"I wouldn't count on it," was Mr. von Horstein's reply. "But don't worry. A hundred years from now, you'll have forgotten all about them."

"We had a daughter about your, uh, _size_," said his wife, her tone becoming wistful. "Her name was Greta."

"What happened to her?" asked Vanessa.

"She was…" said Mrs. von Horstein haltingly.

"…crushed to death," her husband finished for her. "They found her in the rubble of a college building in Springfield, flat as a pancake. It was _her_ horn that made you what you are today."

"Many people have tried to squeeze a fourth wish out of a unicorn horn," said the woman. "It almost always ended badly."

"Yeah, I remember," Vanessa recalled. "That witch lady made a wish to turn into a little girl, but the wish landed on _me_ instead."

They drove along the side roads, bypassing the highway entrances, as the von Horsteins shared their stories with her. "There was once a man who got his hands on _two_ horns," the man related. "He made six wishes, and they came true, but he still wasn't satisfied. He used an acetylene torch to fuse the two horns together, then made another wish—a wish for immortality."

"And what happened?" said Vanessa curiously.

"The horns must have misunderstood him," Mr. von Horstein continued, "because they granted him _immorality_. He became a criminal and a very evil man, and was eventually sent to prison for life."

"Oops," said Vanessa. _As soon as we stop somewhere, I'm gonna make a run for it_, she thought.

"There are far worse things than being turned into a girl," said Mrs. von Horstein, "as any girl will tell you."

* * *

So thrilled was Francine that she had to share her secret with the first friend she saw, even if that friend happened to be a droopy-eared rabbit boy with a death wish written all over his face. "Hey, Buster," she said, slipping onto the upholstered seat at the back of the Sugar Bowl.

"Hi, Francine," was his miserable reply.

"Can you keep a secret?" asked the monkey girl with a goofy smirk.

"Uh-huh," said Buster, gazing dolefully at his reflection in the melted ice cream at the bottom of his bowl.

Francine leaned closer. "Catherine and Mitch," she whispered into his ample ear, "are gonna get _married!_"

"I'm so happy for them," said Buster without lifting his eyes.

"Nobody else knows it yet," Francine went on, "not even Mom and Dad. Not even CNN, or the Washington Post. Wanna know how _I_ know?"

The rabbit boy only shook his head.

"Hmm," said Francine analytically. "A kid your age wouldn't still be pining for a dead puppy, so it must be…your folks are fighting again, aren't they?"

Buster sighed. "That's _all_ they do," he told her. "My mom hasn't forgiven Harry for leaving her behind at Torchwood. I don't think she ever will."

"I'm sorry," said Francine, not noticing the aardvark boy who was staring intently at her from across the aisle. "I wish there were something I could do."

_I wish there were something I could do as well_, thought the mysterious boy. _I can see many nearby realities, but none where that rabbit kid is happy and smiling._

"All she cares about is Petula," complained Buster. "Why doesn't she just _marry_ Petula?"

"I know this is painful for you," said Francine sympathetically. "But remember what Bionic Bunny says—always look at the bright side of life."

"What's the bright side?" Buster asked her.

"Francine and Mitch are getting married."

Buster groaned. "Oh, I'm gonna be split up between _three_ parents now. Maybe I should become a Los Viajeros groupie; at least I'd have a little stability."

"I'm the Boy of Steel!" he heard a blunt voice proclaim.

Binky had walked into the ice cream shop, followed closely behind by classmates Arthur and Beat. While Arthur browsed the tubs behind the glass, Binky waved his fists at every boy within his range of vision: "C'mon, hit me! Hit me as hard as you can!"

"Need I remind you," Beat warned him, "that this is how Harry Houdini met his end? With all his fantastic powers, he couldn't withstand a punch to the gut."

"I don't need you," was Binky's haughty response. "I already have a conscience." Approaching the table where George sat behind a root beer float, he said, "Hey, antler boy! Hit me! Ram me! I can handle it, because I'm the Boy of Steel."

"I'll, uh, take your word for it," said the nervous moose boy.

Francine, abandoning her efforts to console Buster, stood to face the braggart. "Over here, you big ox," she said defiantly.

Binky smiled and swaggered to her location. "Give it your best shot," he said, steeling his abdominal muscles.

"Don't encourage him, Frankie," said Beat, but not before Francine had already launched her fist into Binky's solar plexus. A little air escaped from the big boy's lungs, but he stood, unmoved, like a stone tower; Francine, on the other hand, felt as if she had picked a fight with a side of beef.

"You hit like a girl," Binky chided her.

"Geez, I wonder why," was Francine's sarcastic response.

_That kid's just asking to be humiliated_, thought the aardvark boy. Pushing his fear aside, he rose up from the table and placed himself in front of Binky, who had about six inches on him. "Who do you think you are?" he asked the hulking youth.

"Binky Barnes," replied Binky Barnes. "Who do _you_ think I am?"

The strange boy's voice carried an air of maturity. "You act like you're not afraid of much," he said calmly. "Isn't there anything that frightens you?"

"Nope," said Binky, folding his arms smugly. "Well, maybe one thing. Girls."

"Girls?" said the aardvark boy, his interest piqued.

"Yeah. They're icky."

"There he goes again," said Francine with a quiet groan.

"Girls aren't icky," insisted the unknown boy.

"Oh, yeah?" said Binky incredulously. "Do you know what happens to girls when they turn thirteen? A thirteen-year-old girl told me all about it. It's really weird and really, really icky."

"Silly goose," said Beat. "Going to the toilet is weird and icky, but _everyone_ does it."

"Young man," said the boy, his eyes fixed on Binky's, "you need to be taught a lesson."

"Yeah?" said Binky, clenching his fists. "Who's gonna teach me?"

He blinked, and by the time he finished blinking, his surroundings had been completely transformed.

He wasn't sure how, but in the space of that blink he had gone from a threatening position in the Sugar Bowl to a sitting position on a wooden chair in front of what seemed like a desk. A pen was in his hand, a sheet of paper was laid out before him, and he was looking into the face of the prettiest bulldog girl he had ever seen. Her hair was light brown with wide curls, and it cascaded around her neck and shoulders, unconstrained by bows.

He smiled bashfully. The girl smiled at the same time. He lowered his eyes. The girl lowered hers. On the paper he saw only line after line of flowery handwriting with a name signed at the top, _Bernadette Barnes_. He lowered his eyes more, feeling a weight on his head shift as he did so, and observed that the expected brown sweater and jeans had been replaced by a skirt and a pink blouse with short, ruffled sleeves.

He turned his gaze to the bulldog girl again, and it dawned on him that he was looking into a mirror.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Barnes heard a high-pitched scream of terror and dropped the plate she was washing. "Bernadette!" she exclaimed, rushing toward the bedroom with utmost haste. She shoved the door open and beheld a brown-haired girl slumped over, her face pressing against the top of the writing desk, in a dead faint.

* * *

To be continued 


	5. Being Bernadette Barnes

"I don't know what it was," said Mrs. Barnes, who was waving a newspaper section back and forth over her daughter's face to keep her cool. "I heard her scream, and when I got there, she'd fainted."

"Maybe she found a split end," said Francine facetiously.

Bernadette's eyes popped open suddenly. "Honestly, Francine," she said in a wounded tone. "I may be unconscious, but I still have feelings."

"You're okay!" said Mrs. Barnes with joy. Francine took a step back as she scooped up the curly-haired girl in her arms.

"Mother," said Bernadette, squirming, "you're going to fracture one of my vertebrae."

Freed from the bulldog woman's tight grip, she turned to face Francine, her locks bouncing. "I had the most dreadful scare," she said earnestly. "It must have been a very large spider, or perhaps a deformed kitten with one eye. Whatever it was, the shock it caused me was so great that I passed out entirely."

With Mrs. Barnes gone to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water, Francine grinned at her young friend and said, "How's _this_ for shocking? Catherine and Mitch are getting married!"

Bernadette's brain slammed against her eyeballs. "Married?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "_Married?_ Surely you're joking!"

"I'm not joking," said Francine, taking a seat on the couch by her, "and please don't call me Shirley."

"I always knew they were meant for each other," said Bernadette, resting her chin on her hands with a passionate sigh. "I saw it in their eyes. When a man and a woman look at each other the way they do…"

Breaking off in mid-sentiment, she snatched up the TV remote from the end table and began to flip through the channels. "There's gotta be something good to watch," she muttered crudely. "I haven't seen a good wrestling match in…"

"What…?" said the startled Francine. "But you _hate_ wrestling."

Bernadette finally stopped clicking the button, and smiled with glee. "All right! Slam Wilson!" Her voice was an excited squeal.

Francine looked at the struggle between the two muscle-bound wrestlers on the screen, then back at her friend's empty gaze. "Uh, Bernadette?"

The girl's response was a confused glare. "Why do you keep calling me that?" she said peevishly. "My name's Binky."

It was Francine's turn to look confused.

Bernadette stretched out her skirt and examined it. "This had better be a dream," she said, consternation in her tone, "'cause I can't think of anything worse than getting turned into a girl."

Mrs. Barnes returned to the living room, her fingers wrapped around a moist glass. "Drink this, dear," she said, handing the water to Bernadette. "It'll make you feel better."

She swigged deeply from the glass, and relief spread over her cherub-like face. "Thank you, Mother."

"Don't leave yet, Mrs. Barnes," Francine said earnestly to the woman. "I think something's really wrong with her. She was talking nonsense. She said her name was…_Binky._"

"I said no such thing," said Bernadette flippantly. "Wait…yes, I _did_ say it. I remember now."

"Who _is_ Binky?" Francine asked her.

Bernadette merely shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Francine."

Mrs. Barnes rubbed her chin. "I don't know anyone named Binky," she remarked, "but it's strange that you should pick that name. When I was pregnant, your father said that if you were born a boy, he'd call you Binky as a nickname."

"Saints be praised, I _wasn't_ born a boy," said Bernadette. _For a brief moment I felt as if someone else had taken over_, she thought. _I mustn't tell Mother—she'd only worry._

"If you were a boy," Francine mused, "you'd probably be a big, dumb, mean bully with a head shaped like a gourd."

"If _you_ were a boy," Bernadette countered, "I imagine you'd be much the same as you are now."

"Take that back," said Francine playfully.

Bernadette shrugged again. "It's impossible to tell, of course. My philosophy is that who we are, and what we are, were decided before we were born by the tossing of a coin."

* * *

The strange aardvark boy sat at his table in the Sugar Bowl, his fingers tented, his brow creased with concern over the rightness of what he had done. Buster was still sulking across the aisle from him, and several tables away Beat was regaling Arthur with the news she had received from Roland, her British boyfriend. Francine and Binky were nowhere to be seen.

_If it worked, then he's stuck inside a girl somewhere_, he thought. _I've got to find that girl, or I'll never know._

* * *

To be continued 


	6. We Started With Nothing

"Now remember, girls," Francine counseled her assembled friends Prunella, Beat, Sue Ellen, Fern, Jenna, and Bernadette, "when Catherine and Mitch make their big announcement, try to act surprised."

Beat raised her hand. "Will it help if I burst into tears spontaneously?" she asked.

Francine nodded.

"Excellent," said the rabbit-aardvark girl. "I've been doing that quite a lot lately."

The two young lovers arrived, hand in hand, at the Frensky apartment, only to find it packed to overflowing with girls. "Frankie, what are all your friends doing here?" Catherine inquired of her sister.

"Oh, just hanging out," replied Francine with an innocent shrug.

"Well, could you please find another hangout spot?" said the teenage monkey girl. "Mitch and I have some important news for the family, and it's of a rather intimate nature."

"Yeah, _very_ intimate," said Jenna, giggling.

"_I_ want to hear the news too," Sue Ellen chirped. A chorus of "me too" rose from the mob of young ladies.

Catherine shook her head incredulously. "From the looks of it," she observed, "you've _already_ heard the news."

"No, we haven't," said Fern. "We're completely in the dark."

An expectant pause followed, as Mitch and Catherine tried to come up with a way to get rid of, or at least get around, the throng of eager girls. Bored with the silence, Bernadette opened her mouth and let her gorgeous soprano voice ring out: "Going to the chapel and I'm gonna get married…"

All the girls joined in, half of them in one key, half in another. Catherine and Mitch, though embarrassed, couldn't help but smile.

"I want to be a bridesmaid!" Prunella chimed in.

"I want to give the bride and groom a 21-gun salute!" said Sue Ellen.

"I want to step on the wine glass," said Jenna.

"That's for the _groom_ to do," Fern told her.

Catherine chuckled. "Nobody's going to step on any wine glass," she stated. "We're going to have a non-denominational wedding." When she had finished those words, she noticed that they had evoked scowls on the faces of her parents, who stood listening by the door to their bedroom.

"Cath? Mitch?" said Mr. Frensky, taking a step forward. "We'd like a word with you in private."

The girls could hear a hairpin drop as Catherine marched dutifully into her parents' room, Mitch in tow. As soon as the door had closed on the foursome, chattering began anew.

"What are they talking about, Francine?" Jenna asked her friend.

"Darned if I know," was the reply.

"They're planning, of course," said Beat. "Every wedding is 50 percent love and 50 percent planning."

"You're such a literalist, Beatrice," said Bernadette critically. "A wedding isn't something you can describe with a chart. It's the binding of two souls into a blessed unity—a holy sacrament, in a figurative sense at least. I only hope that when my time comes, I'll be as perfectly matched as…"

She halted abruptly, for Binky had reasserted himself in her mind. _Geez, this girl's a whack job_, he thought. _She uses twice as many words as she needs to, and I think helium would actually lower her voice! I've got to either get out of her body, or kick her out so I can have it to myself, 'cause I don't know how much more of this mushiness I can take._

Catherine's words were faintly audible to the girls: "What's wrong? Did you object to the word 'non-denominational'?"

"No, dear," her mother replied. "We objected to the word 'wedding'."

"Neither of you is ready to take that step," said Mr. Frensky sternly. "You have no money, no education, no prospects."

"So?" Catherine shrugged dismissively. "What did _you_ have when you got married?"

"Nothing," answered Mrs. Frensky. "And that's what we still have—nothing. Your father and I have worked our butts off to ensure that your future would be brighter than ours, and we won't watch you throw that away in a fit of infatuation."

"Infatu…" Mitch sputtered. "But, Mrs. F, we're in love—_deeply_ in love."

"It's because he's a non-Jew, isn't it?" said Catherine sharply.

"What do you think this is, _Fiddler on the Roof?_" her father retorted.

Binky cleared his throat (or rather, Bernadette's throat) and addressed the other girls. "Excuse me," he said, ashamed of the voice he was forced to use, "but has any one of you ever heard of a kid named Binky Barnes?"

"For the umpteenth time, _no,_" said Francine impatiently.

"Is he a relation of yours?" asked Beat.

"You might say that," was Binky's reply.

"What does he look like?" Sue Ellen inquired of him.

"Well, uh…" Binky thought for a moment. "He's a big, dumb, mean bully with a head shaped like a gourd."

"A bully?" said Prunella. "There are no bullies at Lakewood. Does he go to Mighty Mountain?"

Binky's heart tried to escape through his throat. _No bullies at Lakewood?_ "Wh-what about the Tough Customers?" he said with alarm.

The girls stared at "Bernadette" incredulously. "Hell_oooo_," said Fern. "Have you lost your long-term memory or something? Forcing the Tough Customers to disband was your first act as student body president."

For the second time in one day, Binky felt like he would faint.

"Principal Haney helped out a little," Beat added, "but the basic idea was yours, Bernadette."

_So this is what my life would be like if I'd been born a girl_, thought Binky in despair. _I've seen enough—I want to die now._

"What happened to Mr. Haney, anyway?" Jenna wondered.

"He's being treated," Sue Ellen told her. "Don't worry, he'll be okay."

"He'll be okay," Prunella mumbled obsessively. "He'll be okay. He'll be okay…"

* * *

In an unoccupied room of Katzenellenbogan Memorial Hospital, the prostrate form of Herbert Haney was gently lowered through a transparent space portal and onto the surface of a bed. The moment his body made contact with the sheets, he opened his eyes and began to struggle for breath.

* * *

To be continued 


	7. Too Many Generals

Catherine's earnest defense of her marriage plans fell on unsympathetic ears. "Mitch may not have a college diploma hanging on his wall," she said to her parents, "but he's a hard worker, and that's what matters."

"Hard work isn't enough," replied Mr. Frensky. "I've been hauling garbage for almost twenty years, and I'm no higher up the ladder now than I was when I started. How long will Mitch be a taxi driver? He has dreams of publishing a novel, but are they anything more than pipe dreams?"

"You could be right, Mr. F," said Mitch. "My literary ambitions may be mere fantasy, but on the other hand…"

"There _is_ no other hand," said the man firmly. "I cannot and will not give my blessing to your union until one of you finishes college, and my wife stands with me on that."

"That could take _years,_" Catherine protested.

"You're still young," said her father. "This discussion is over."

_I can't freakin' believe this_, thought Binky as he waited with the girls for the happy couple to emerge. _Girl Binky is better than boy Binky at everything—she's smarter, she's more talented, and she's the student body president! I'm frightened by her excellence! How can I possibly live her life?_

Catherine and Mitch walked—one could almost say _staggered_—out of the bedroom, their expressions as gloomy as a Nordic winter. Every one of the visiting girls gaped, wondering what had taken them down to such a wretched level. Jenna was the first to dare speak: "What's wrong? What happened?"

Catherine shot her a pitiful glance. "There's not going to be a wedding," she said in a quivering voice. "I'm sorry."

"Omigosh, Cath, _no!_" exclaimed Francine.

"What? No wedding?" said Prunella.

"What a letdown!" said Fern.

"Whose happiness will I vicariously enjoy _now?_" said Beat.

Catherine wiped a tear from her cheek as she and Mitch departed the Frenskys' humble dwelling. The girls, disappointed and seeing no reason to stay, excused themselves on the pretext of homework. Soon only Francine and Bernadette remained.

"Sorry to dash your hopes like this, Bern," said Francine, her face downcast.

Bernadette, or rather Binky inside of her, only shrugged. "Crud happens," he said flippantly. "You gotta take the bad with the good."

Francine peered at the bulldog girl. "That's not the Bernadette I know. You cried for _hours_ the last time something like this happened."

Binky's response was another shrug.

"Well," said Francine slowly, "I guess I'll see you at school tomorrow."

The monkey girl vanished into her room, leaving Binky to reflect on his position. _I'm on my own, and I'm in control_, he thought. _I know what I'd do if I was still myself, but will it work on Planet Bernadette? It can't hurt to try…_

As was his custom, he walked the familiar path to Buster's condo, hoping for some quality time for his study buddy. Everything he passed seemed much taller than before—the trees, the mailboxes, the fences, even Arthur's dog. _Nobody will take me seriously if I threaten to clobber them_, he told himself. _Will I actually have to learn how to be polite?_

The atmosphere at Buster's place was quiet but tense, as if angry voices were still echoing off the walls. "Hi, Bernadette," said the rabbit boy, who looked only slightly more cheerful than when Binky had seen him last. "Come on in."

_Even Buster can't get my name right_, thought Binky. Stepping inside, he observed that the framed photograph of Fern that Buster had taken down after dropping her as a girlfriend was still hanging proudly on the wall. _Hmm…I'd better not ask._

"Harry's taking a nap," Buster informed him. "Mom and Petula are staying at Aunt Mitzi's house. So, what brings you here?"

"I thought we might do some studying together," Binky answered. _He's looking me straight in the eye. He doesn't do that with girls anymore._

"I don't know about that," said Buster reluctantly. "You're so much smarter than I am. I'd only slow you down."

"Then we'll study something you're good at," said Binky.

"Like what?" said Buster. "Food? Comic books?"

They eventually agreed to go over the history reading assignment. Seated in front of Buster's desk, Binky leafed through the book and started to read the chapter heading aloud: "_General Sherman's March to the Sea._ In 1864, General Ulysses S. Grant…"

"Wait a minute," Buster interrupted. "I thought this chapter was about General Sherman, not General Grant."

"Yeah, so did I," said Binky. "How many generals _were_ there?"

Buster smiled, revealing the cracks between his teeth. "Remember that thing you said in class yesterday, about the Civil War being 'the rich man's war, but the poor man's fight'? What exactly does that mean?"

Binky thought for a second, but it did him no good. "I don't know. It was just something I heard."

He saw that Buster's eyes were beginning to sparkle, and it made him uneasy. "You don't have to play dumb to impress me, Bern," said the rabbit boy.

The next thing Binky knew, Buster's hand was atop his, gently stroking his skin.

Startled, he pulled his (Bernadette's) hand away. "Dude, what's the _matter_ with you?" he exclaimed, the voice from his mouth sounding like the cry of a harpy.

Buster's ears drooped sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry," he half-mumbled. "I know I shouldn't. I'm still seeing Fern…"

"_What?_" said Binky, alarmed. "I thought we agreed—_no more girlfriends._"

His friend looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about," said Binky maturely. "The book you picked up from Slink and Toby. The weird, icky things that happen to girls. _Sex._"

Buster's expression remained blank. _Shoot_, Binky realized. _It didn't happen in this reality. My relationship with Odette…my relationship with Molly…they were totally different, because I'm a girl myself!_

It was like falling asleep—he didn't see or feel it coming when Bernadette's psyche pushed his aside. He simply _became_ her.

Horrified, Bernadette rose from her chair and backed away. "Oh, Buster," she lamented. "What must you think of me? I'm so dreadfully embarrassed. The things I said…the _words_ I used…"

Buster stood up slowly, his face indicating that he wanted to help in any way he could.

"I…I love you," said Bernadette.

Without another word, she turned, fled from the room, and kept running until she reached the street outside the condominium building. Tears poured from her eyes the entire way.

* * *

To be continued 


	8. The Lathe of Clive

Bernadette's tears soaked her cheeks and fingers. _I've ruined any chance I had with Buster_, she thought bitterly, as the sky began to grow dark above her. _Who is this Binky, and why does he keep taking control of me? How I wish I were rid of him!_

The girl with the curly brown locks sobbed miserably on the sidewalk. When she finally ran out of tears and looked over her fingers, a compassionate-looking aardvark boy appeared before her. "Uh, hello," she greeted him weakly.

"Binky Barnes?" was all the boy said.

Bernadette shook her head. "No such person exists," she stated, "but if you're looking for Bernadette Barnes, you've found her."

The boy politely put out his hand. "My name's Clive," he announced.

"I'd gladly shake with you," said Bernadette, "but my hands are wet with tears—_my_ tears. Alas, I fear I shall never find true love."

Clive looked at her inquisitively. "You have _no_ recollection of being Binky? None at all?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're saying," was Bernadette's response.

"Then I'll explain," said Clive, "though I can't be sure whether you'll remember my explanation after I change you back."

"Change me back? Into what?"

Clive reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. "Heads or tails?" he said, placing the coin atop his thumb.

"Er, heads," said Bernadette.

The boy proceeded to flip the coin. Catching it in the air, he opened his fingers to reveal that it had, indeed, come up heads. "Call it again," he instructed her.

"Tails," said the bulldog girl.

She predicted the outcome ten times, he tossed the coin ten times, and ten times she was correct. "Would you like to keep going?" Clive asked her.

"No," said Bernadette. "I would, however, like you to accompany me to the convenience store, and help me select a lottery ticket."

Clive chuckled. "You must be wondering what my secret is. I'll tell you. I can change the outcome of things that have already happened."

"Please talk sense, young man," said the girl.

"When I look at you," he continued, "I see not only you, but other versions of you in nearby realities. If I want to, I can pick one of those realities and turn it into _our_ reality. That's how I did the trick with the coin. If I want it to come up heads, but it comes up tails, I simply choose the reality where it comes up heads. I could make the same coin come up heads a billion times in a row."

"If I understand my science fiction," said Bernadette, "you're talking about parallel universes—one where the coin comes up heads, one where the coin comes up tails, and you, able to choose one or the other at will. Am I right?"

"You're very smart," Clive commended her. "But my gift only works when the difference between one reality and another is very small. The coin toss trick is easy; I can do it in my sleep. Another easy trick is to change whether someone was born male or female."

Bernadette felt her jaw starting to fall.

"Earlier today I met a kid named Binky Barnes," Clive went on. "He was being obnoxious, so I decided to teach him a lesson by switching to a reality where he was born a girl. _You're_ that girl, Bernadette Barnes."

"No," said Bernadette nervously. "No, I don't believe a word of it. It's preposterous."

Clive grinned. "You're right, it is. It's utter nonsense. How can a little boy have that kind of power?"

"Indeed," said the girl. "It would be far beyond the mental capacity of any…"

She ceased to exist in the middle of her sentence.

Binky became aware that there was a television set in front of him, and a soft cushion underneath his posterior. He glanced around and discovered that he was in his own living room, and wearing the clothes he remembered having put on.

_I'm myself again_, he thought with elation. _Was it all a dream? Everything seemed so real when I was inside that girl. That poor girl. I remember crying…feeling so sad, so blue… Is that how a girl feels when her heart's broken?_

"Binky," he heard his mother call. "Please turn off the TV and come to dinner."

"Yes, Mother," he replied. "Er, I mean, Mom."

Having dined to his satisfaction, Binky picked up the cordless phone receiver and dialed Francine's number. "Hello?" the girl's voice uttered.

"Hey, Francine," he said, resting his head against the arm of the couch. "Someone told me that your sister and Mitch were planning to get married, but your parents were against it. Is that true?"

"Yes, Binky," Francine answered. "Unfortunately, it's true."

"Mm-hmm," said Binky with satisfaction. "And did you invite all your girlfriends to hear the big announcement, even though they hadn't told anybody yet?"

There was a pause. "Yes, I did," said Francine's voice, "though frankly, you're getting a little too close to the line between what's your business and what's not."

"Okey-dokey," said Binky. "That's all I wanted to know. Goodbye."

_It wasn't a dream_, he thought as he pressed the END button. _It really happened. I've got to find that kid again!_

* * *

You will, Binky. You will… 


	9. You're in Unicorn Country

"Wow," said Vanessa in awe. "Just wow."

Her trek with the von Horsteins had taken her into a tunnel cut out of a rock face, down a bumpy gravel lane, and onto the fringe of a subterranean residential area whose houses were made from opaque, multifaceted glass. Other than the one they had arrived on, there were no streets, but only smooth marble walkways. Along them strolled people, young and old, with faces like horses and shining golden horns emerging from their foreheads.

Mr. von Horstein turned his head to the back seat of the Nissan Versa; Vanessa noticed that his own horn was starting to appear. "This is the city of Unicornutopia," he told her. "Here, you can wear your horn with pride."

"You must be hungry," said his wife to the anxious girl. "We'll have a meal ready in a few minutes; in the meantime, you can meet some of the neighborhood girls—unless, of course, you still prefer to play with boys."

As Mrs. von Horstein escorted her to a nearby playground, Vanessa practiced the trick Goodkitty had taught her, and made her unicorn horn materialize in all its glory. _I can't see any way out of this_, she thought. _Mom and Dad probably won't send anyone after me. If I could find a way to get a message through to Arthur, or D.W., or Francine…until then, I'll have to play along._

She found Unicornutopia to be an odd place, where there was as much daylight as on the surface, yet no sun over her head. It appeared that the many houses and buildings were illuminated by a gigantic orb far above them. In the small park where Mrs. von Horstein had dropped her off, a half-dozen other girls were engaged in an unusual activity. Five of them were standing rock-still with their arms elevated, an orderly pile of round sticks floating in their midst. The other girl waved her hand at one of the sticks on the ground, and it obediently levitated upward and landed on the top of the airborne pile. The girls were clad in long, loose robes that she would have called dresses, except that the boys in the neighborhood were apparently wearing the same thing.

Vanessa approached them timidly. "Uh, hello," she said. "My name's Vanessa."

The five girls, who seemed to be holding the sticks in the air through sheer force of will, didn't respond. The other girl smiled and said in a somber voice, "I'm Lallie, and these are my friends Shimelle, Olba, Keekee, and the twins, Macey and Jacey." The appellation 'twins' confused Vanessa, as all six of the youngsters looked identical to her in both face and hairstyle.

Each of the other girls turned and introduced herself; when the last girl had done so, the pile of sticks fell down and flew apart in the grass. "How old are you?" Shimelle asked the new girl.

"I'm ten," Vanessa replied.

"Oh," said Shimelle condescendingly. "You're a _baby_."

"She's such a _cute_ baby," gushed Macey and Jacey in unison.

"I am _not_ a baby," Vanessa insisted.

Olba reached into one of her robe's many pockets, drawing out a small red object. "Here's a ball to play with," she said, tossing it to Vanessa.

As she caught it, she discovered it was made of wood, not plastic. "Don't get a splinter," Keekee cautioned her.

_They could be hundreds of years old for all I know_, thought Vanessa. "What's that game you're playing with the sticks?" she asked.

"It's called Stickup," replied Lallie. "Each girl takes a turn piling sticks while the other girls hold them up. The goal is to pile as many sticks as you can before the tower gets too heavy and collapses."

"Okay," said Vanessa. "How do you win?"

"Win?" said all the girls together, and they burst into giggles.

"Winning and losing are for _baby_ games," said Macey and Jacey.

"I'm not a baby!" Vanessa shouted. "And stop talking in unison!"

"Here, Vanessa," said Lallie. She waved her finger, and one of the sticks rolled in the new girl's direction. "If you're not a baby, then make that stick float without touching it."

Determined to prove her mettle, Vanessa peered at the rounded wooden stick and concentrated with all her strength. _Unknown unicorn powers, don't fail me now_, she thought.

Seconds passed, and the stick didn't budge.

"It's okay, Vanessa," said Keekee. "I couldn't do it until I was fifty."

"_Fifty?_" squealed the other girls with incredulous delight.

Although the unicorn girls treated her with kindness, Vanessa could easily tell that they possessed intelligence and faculties far beyond her own. The fifteen minutes she spent with them felt like an unpleasant eternity. Finally Mrs. von Horstein came to retrieve her, and she left the playground eagerly. The unicorn woman and girl walked hand in hand, Vanessa seeing no point in resisting her would-be mother's affectionate advances.

The house where the von Horsteins lived was similar in appearance to the others that sat in a regular row along the lane. To Vanessa it resembled a display room in a furniture store, except for the quartz-like texture of the walls and marble patterns in the floor. At several points in what she took to be the living room, pictures of a beautiful young unicorn girl were attached to the wall with some type of blue adhesive putty.

"Is that Greta?" she asked her hostess.

Mrs. von Horstein nodded. "She had just celebrated her 213th birthday," she related. "We warned her that getting involved in the affairs of the human world could be dangerous, but her feelings towards the friends she had made were too strong."

She led Vanessa into one of the rooms, where a surprise awaited her—a series of portraits on the walls, each bearing the image of a smiling Fern Walters. "I _know_ her," said Vanessa reverently.

"We haven't changed a thing about her room since she died," said the unicorn woman. "There were days when she would talk about nothing else but Fern, Fern, Fern." She tapped on a cubical object that looked to Vanessa like a TV screen encased in crystal. "She corresponded with Fern on this computer," she explained. "It's your computer now…and your room."

"It's a generous offer, Mrs. von Horstein," said Vanessa, "but seriously, I should be getting back to my real family."

The woman shook her head solemnly. "They'll never accept you in your current form," she said. "You know that's true."

"However," said Mr. von Horstein, who had removed his tie and joined them in Greta's former room, "the Unicorn Council _is_ willing to cut a deal with you."

Vanessa gaped. "A deal? _What_ deal?"

The unicorn man smiled and put a hand under her chin. "Perform one simple task for us," he stated, "and the Council will change you back into what you were before Greta's horn transformed you, and send you back to your natural parents."

"What is it?" asked Vanessa, so excited she felt like hopping. "I'll do anything!"

Kneeling, Mr. von Horstein pressed his large nostrils against Vanessa's ear and whispered several words.

Horror spread across the girl's face. "Not _that_," she said quietly. "Not for anything in the world."

* * *

To be continued 


	10. Reality Czech

"_Dobré ráno_, Tyson," said Muffy, kneeling on the floor in nothing but her slip and stockings. "Can you say _dobré ráno_?"

"Gurgle," replied the toddler.

"Very good," said Muffy. "_Dobré ráno_ is Czech for _good morning_. You'll need to know that, because we're moving to Prague soon."

Her father wandered into the living room of the Crosswire condo, struggling to pull his green sweater over his head. "So it's Prague now," he said disinterestedly. "What's so special about Prague?"

"Oh, Daddy," gushed Muffy as she stood up. "I've learned about the most wonderful school, the Gymnazium Keplera. Its students have the highest test scores in the world, plus it's right next to historic Prague and its magnificent castles. There are plenty of shops and restaurants, too."

"Muffin," said Mr. Crosswire peevishly, "a year ago you were begging me to pull you out of Uppity Downs Academy because you couldn't keep up academically. What makes you think you'll do better at an exclusive school in Prague? You don't speak a _word_ of Czech."

"I speak _two_ words of Czech, Daddy," Muffy told him. "And I'm more motivated now, since I've lived on an alien planet and seen all the wonders the universe has to offer."

"I'm sorry," said her father, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We just can't afford to move to Europe on a whim."

"Then we'll move on a boat," said Muffy. "How about it, Dad? I promise I won't get seasick again."

"Get dressed, Muffin," said Mr. Crosswire. "I'll give you a ride to school."

"School, schmool," said Muffy as she trudged into her room. "Lakewood Elementary is so utterly parochial, it may as well be a parochial school. I'll never be fulfilled there."

She talked constantly while Mr. Crosswire drove her in his yellow Mitsubishi. "I'm willing to sell my hair, if it helps us afford the move to Europe," she said. "It's still not as long as it was before C.V. made me cut off my braids, but I think it would still fetch a pretty penny."

Several boys standing outside the Lakewood entrance saw Muffy disembark from the car. "Here she comes," said Arthur to his pals.

She marched past them, her expression stoic, acknowledging them with nothing more than a slight glance. "There she goes," said Arthur to his pals.

"She thinks we're too small-town for her," remarked Binky. "But can big-city folks do _this?_" A tremendously loud and prolonged belch followed.

"I think she was infected by alien parasites while she was living on the planet Orelob," said George. "They stimulated her brain's production of endorphins, producing a feeling of euphoria. When she came back to Earth, they started to die off. I've seen it happen before."

"You _have?_" marveled Alan.

"Yeah," said George. "On _Star Trek._"

"I wish there were some way to show her that life on Earth isn't all that bad," said Arthur.

"Maybe there isn't," Alan mused. "She's spent more time among aliens than the rest of us put together. Remember the time you got to ride on Muffy's yacht, and it went straight to your head?"

"Yeah, I do," said Arthur. "I guess this is, like, the same basic plot, only recycled."

As first period drew near, the fifth-graders filed into Mrs. Krantz' classroom. Binky, the last one to arrive, stopped at the doorway when he noticed that Molly McDonald was walking through the center court. The rabbit girl was wearing her usual red dress, and her sparkling hazel eyes were visible for all to see. _This is it_, thought Binky.

"Hey, Molly," he called out, a bit timidly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She responded with a look of disgust mitigated by hatred. "No," she snapped.

Binky watched sadly as she vanished into another room. _She's still angry at me for dumping her_, he thought. _And it's not because she's weird or icky. It's because of the way she feels inside—the way I made her feel. If I learned one thing when I was inside Bernadette, it's that boys can be so insensitive…_

It was an unusual day in Mrs. Krantz' class. All the students were present—Arthur, Francine, Muffy, Binky, Fern, George, Sue Ellen, Buster, Beat, and Zeke. That made it unusual. Nobody had been kidnapped, beamed up by aliens, body-switched, or turned into a zombie. "Welcome to class, children," said the moose woman with the gratingly high-pitched voice. "Today, at the principal's request, we're going to conduct an exercise in sensitivity training, okaaaay? The girls will sit on the left side of the room and watch a Bionic Bunny DVD, and the boys will sit on the right side and watch a Judo Kittens DVD. No running, please."

All the kids sighed. Ever since Rodentia Ratburn had assumed the post of substitute principal, school hadn't been the same.

* * *

To be continued 


	11. The Judo Kittens Save the Day

_The city of Denizenopolis is in danger! The evil scientist Hugh Manatee, determined to avenge the near-extinction of his species by wiping out all of, uh…humanity, has unleashed his most fiendish invention yet—a mind-control transmitter of unimaginable power! Fortunately, the city has a trio of protectors—the Judo Kittens! Genetically engineered for strength, agility, and cuteness, these masters of the martial arts stand ready to open up a can of justice on anyone foolish enough to threaten our way of life!_

"Muwahahaha!" gloated the villain with the beady black eyes. "The moment I throw this lever, every man, woman, and child in the city will be possessed by an irresistible urge to jump into the ocean and drown! Soon the world will be ruled by sea creatures, and the sea creatures will be ruled by _me!_"

"You may want to ask the _sharks_ what they think of that idea," uttered a high-pitched voice.

Hugh Manatee whirled, and noticed three pint-sized creatures with huge eyes and catlike ears standing in the doorway to his laboratory. "Curses and drat!" he exclaimed! "It's Cinnamon, Chamomile, and Calendula—the Judo Kittens!"

"Put up your flippers, you Sea World reject," said Cinnamon, the red-haired Judo Kitten. "There's a nice, warm aquarium waiting for you at the state penitentiary."

"But you're already too late," said Hugh Manatee. "All I need do is throw the switch, and you, along with the entire human population of Denizenopolis, will be compelled to march like lemmings into the sea! You will discover that resistance is futile, for no human being can withstand 10,000 gigawatts of pure, concentrated, electromagnetic force, attuned to the very frequency through which the brain sends signals to the body! You will become like puppets, trapped within your own bodies, carried to your doom by your own legs! Only I, the oldest and wisest of aquatic mammals, am immune to the baneful influence that will seize control of you and drag you down to ruin! You and your kind have tried to exterminate my species, but it is I, rather, who shall exterminate you!"

"He's trying to talk us to death!" said Chamomile, the blond Judo Kitten.

"Fight it, my sisters!" said Calendula, the brunette Judo Kitten.

"…and I will flood the world's major cities! All of civilization shall return to the ocean from whence it began! No power on Earth can stop me! I am the master of evil! I am…"

"Can't…take…much more," Cinnamon mumbled. "Everything…going black…"

As he watched, Buster leaned over to his friend Arthur in the neighboring desk. "One of them's gay," he whispered. "Can you guess which one?"

"Uh…the pink one?" Arthur whispered back.

When the DVDs had finished playing, Mrs. Krantz turned the room lights on. "Are there any questions?" she asked the kids.

"I have one," said Arthur, raising his hand. "Why do the Judo Kittens go around fighting crime? Why don't they spend their time shopping, and getting their hair done, and playing with dolls, and doing other girl things?"

"Hmm," said the moose woman thoughtfully. "I don't know the answer to that, Arthur. Maybe they're trying to compensate for their lack of fingers."

As the class period ended, the students went their separate ways except for Sue Ellen, who remained at her desk and stared glumly at a social studies paper she was writing. Mrs. Krantz, noticing her sadness, inquired, "Something bothering you, honey?"

The curly-haired girl looked at her wistfully. "I miss April," she stated.

"So do I," said the teacher. With a comforting smile, she reached behind her adopted daughter's ears and began to scratch.

"Hee hee," Sue Ellen giggled. "I love it when you do that, Mom."

She squirmed playfully as the moose woman caressed her neck. When the display of affection was over, she became pensive. "Sometimes I wonder…what if I'd stayed with my parents instead of trying to run away with the Doctor? For one thing, April would still be alive."

"True," said Mrs. Krantz, her voice lower and more serious, "but if you'd done that, who knows? We'd all be speaking Yordilian, maybe."

"Yeah," the cat girl agreed. "I know that wouldn't be good for Earth, but…but what about all those girls on Yordil, who'll never have boyfriends or get married?"

"They could go to China," suggested the teacher. "There's a _shortage_ of girls in China."

Sue Ellen grinned. "I'm just glad they're not here, in America, in Elwood City—otherwise they'd snap up all the boys, and there'd be nobody left for _me_."

"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Krantz helpfully. "You're awfully cute, _and_ you're a Yordilian yourself, which means you'd probably have your _pick_ of the boys."

"You really think so?" said Sue Ellen, intrigued.

The moose woman's antlers wobbled as she nodded.

_My pick of the boys_, the girl thought. _Hmm…if I could have any boy, who would it be?_

* * *

To be continued 


	12. Ladies' Choice

Binky marched forward, his heart overflowing with determination. _I'm gonna do it_, he told himself. _I'm gonna ask Molly to get together with me again. If anything gets in my way, I'll clobber it._

It was lunch break at Lakewood, and the playground was filled with children. Molly was on a bench, smiling, her eyes glittering as she talked and laughed with fellow Tough Customer, Rattles. "And my dad was all like, 'Turn off the TV and finish your dinner, young lady.' And I was like, 'But I'm not hungry.' And he was like, 'Then find somebody who _is_ hungry, 'cause you're not watching TV until it's all eaten.' And then I stuck out my hand, and I totally went like _this_."

"Uh, Molly?" said the bemused Rattles. "That's your _ring_ finger."

She was still holding her arm out when Binky arrived. "Hey, Molly," he said with a grin.

The rabbit girl made a quick adjustment. "Yeah, that's it," said Rattles. "_That's_ the right finger."

Binky's face fell. _No one's ever dared do that to me before_, he thought. _Molly must really hate my guts._

He turned and shuffled away, his hands in his pockets. _If Bernadette were here, I know what she'd want me to do—find a girl and make her happy. But which girl? One who's really lonely, maybe?_

Through the corner of his eye he saw Fern tossing a basketball in Prunella's direction, and he began to wonder. _Fern Walters. Pluses: Smart, literate, a good singer. Minuses: Big nose, emotional baggage from getting dumped by Buster. Prunella Prufrock. Pluses: Has a crush on me the size of the Rock of Gibraltar. Minuses: A total whack job._

He walked slowly, and an orange-haired girl overtook him on her way to the school entrance. _Sue Ellen Krantz_, he thought. _Pluses: Cute, well-traveled, likes to paint. Minuses: A known space alien, has evil parents._

Sue Ellen turned to shoot him a brief glance. _Binky Barnes_, she pondered. _Pluses: Big, strong, kinda good looking, plays the clarinet. Minuses: Not very bright, can be mean sometimes, possibly gay._

Muffy sat in a patch of grass, wearing a red jacket over her optical fiber dress, eagerly looking over the pictures in a travel brochure. _Muffy Crosswire_, thought Binky, watching her discreetly. _Pluses: She may not live in a mansion anymore, but she's got enough money to choke a whale. Minuses: She's involved with someone. Herself._

Sue Ellen passed by Arthur as she hurried to the library. _Arthur Read_, she thought. _Pluses: Great kisser, plays the piano. Minuses: Overbearing mom, bratty little sister._

From her perch in the lawn, Muffy heard a noise from the bushes like a dog whining. _Sounds like a hurt puppy_, she thought. _If I lived on another planet, I'd just push a button and a robot would come along and pick up the doggie and make it all better_. She sighed. _I have to do everything by myself on Earth..._

Binky noticed that Francine was waving at him from a classroom window. _Francine Frensky_, he thought. _Pluses: Good at sports. Minuses: Belongs to a weird religion._

Muffy stood up and brushed the grass from her skirt. "Don't cry, little doggie," she said, making her way into the tall bushes.

_George Nordgren_, thought Sue Ellen as she watched the moose boy munch on a candy bar. _Pluses: Muffy apparently sees something in him._

Muffy looked this way and that, seeing plenty of leaves and branches, but no injured puppy.

A strong hand suddenly covered her mouth. Alarmed, she tried to scream, but found that something sticky had been fastened to her face, and was blocking her voice. As she flailed and kicked and tried to yell for help, an unseen pair of arms forcibly yanked off her jacket. This was followed by the terrifying and uncomfortable feeling of deft fingers unfastening the buttons on the back of her dress…

* * *

To be continued 


	13. Undressed

Out from the vegetation burst Muffy, her dress gone, her slip fully exposed, tears flowing down her cheeks. As she struggled to pry a strip of duct tape from over her mouth, the kids in the playground took notice of her plight.

"Look, over there!" exclaimed Zeke England. "Something's happened to Muffy!"

"Bloody hell!" cried Beat when she laid eyes on the weeping, embarrassed girl.

"You said the H-word," Zeke pointed out.

Muffy, still tugging at the tape that clung to her skin, was soon surrounded by children she knew and some she didn't. "What happened to you?" asked the concerned Prunella.

"Mmph mmph _mmph!_" was all Muffy could manage. Impatient to hear her story, Binky grabbed one corner of the duct tape and pulled with all his might. "Mmph mmph _oooowwwww!_"

"Omigosh, Muffy, are you okay?" said Fern earnestly.

The monkey girl used her naked arm to wipe the tears from her eyes. "No, I'm _not_ okay," she said bitterly. "My face stings like the dickens, and _that horrible man stole my dress!_"

The kids looked at her, puzzled. They looked at each other, puzzled.

"But what about _you_, Muffy?" Beat pressed her. "Did he hurt _you_ at all?"

"My dress!" she wailed obliviously. "My beautiful dress! It was all I brought with me from Elci Kahaf, and now it's gone, _gone!_"

"We'll find the guy who did this," Binky vowed. "We'll find him, and I'll clobber him good."

"I'll clobber him _myself!_" cried the distraught girl.

Moments later she was seated in the principal's office, a mob of curious students assembled outside. "Tell me what happened, from the beginning," said substitute principal Rodentia Ratburn gently.

Muffy sniffled. "I went into the bushes," she recounted. "A man grabbed me, and then he took off my jacket, and then he…he…"

"Did he violate you?" asked Miss Ratburn.

"No, worse," said Muffy miserably. "He took my _dress!_"

Rodentia clasped her hands thoughtfully.

"I want my dress back," Muffy demanded tearfully. "I don't care who you have to call—the police, the CIA, the Bunny League. That dress is the only thing I own that's not from Earth, and I want it back!"

"The police will look into this, I promise you," said the rat woman.

In the adjoining hallway, Arthur and George discussed what they had heard. "I don't get it," said Arthur. "Who would steal a girl's dress, but leave the girl behind?"

"The answer to that is _so_ obvious," replied George. "On Orelob it's just another dress, but here on Earth it's advanced alien technology. Ka-ching, ka-ching, if you know what I mean."

"Gosh, you're right," said Arthur. "It could be worth millions of dollars…and Muffy's been showing it off _everywhere._"

Prunella, who had heard their exchange, grimaced with anxiety. _Millions of dollars_, the words echoed in her head. _Millions of dollars…_

She immediately sought out Sue Ellen, locating her on the other end of the crowd. Pulling the cat girl away by her wrist, she whispered roughly, "Does anybody know besides you?"

"Know what?" said Sue Ellen, confused.

Prunella tapped herself on the temple. "The _ipchay_ in my _ainbray_," she muttered.

Sue Ellen only stared blankly—she had been exposed to many languages, but Pig Latin wasn't one of them.

"This is serious," the rat girl rasped. "If Muffy's dress is worth millions, then an alien mind control chip must be worth billions, or even _jillions._"

"I haven't told anyone," said her friend.

"Good," said Prunella, "because if word gets out, who knows? Bill Gates may just decide to pick my brains."

* * *

Miles away, in a ramshackle laboratory filled with more scientific equipment than it could hold, a bespectacled man with a tube-shaped head muttered to himself while staring at the X-ray film in his hands. "Somehow, the microchip implanted in the girl's cranium protected her from the powers of the Brainchildren," he observed. "I _must_ unlock its secrets—it's a matter of life and glavin."

* * *

To be continued 


	14. Chick Magnate

Nearly the entire student body gathered in front of the school to watch Muffy, wearing little else but her slip and shoes, ride away in a police car. Miss Ratburn, eager to restore order, stood before the crowd and said sweetly, "There's nothing to see here, children. Everything's all right, so let's just scoot back to class."

Most of the kids reluctantly obeyed, but Rattles had a bone to pick. "And what if I don't _want_ to go back to class?" he said to the smiling rat woman. "What will the terrible Rodentia do to me?"

"I'll rip out your spine and cram it down your throat," muttered Miss Ratburn out of the side of her mouth.

Rattles thought for a second, then grinned. "You're cool," was all he said.

In the squad car, policewomen Pinsky and Jones talked to Muffy through the grate that separated them from the back seat. "It's clear to me that somebody wanted that _particular_ dress," remarked Officer Pinsky. "Muffy, have you met anyone recently who admired or complimented your dress?"

"If by _admired_ you mean _gawked_, then yes," the girl replied. After some reflection she continued, "There was this one time…my dad and I went to a restaurant to meet somebody…"

_One week earlier_

"I want you to be on your best behavior, Muffin," said Mr. Crosswire, who wore a navy blue suit and spotted tie. "Mr. Gelt is very wealthy, and very well-mannered. If I make a good enough impression, he may decide to give us a loan so we can open a new car lot. So don't squirt any ketchup packets, okay?"

"Geez, Dad," said Muffy a bit peevishly. "I haven't done that since I was six. Let's bury the dead horse already."

It wasn't long before a formally dressed old rabbit man arrived at their table in Bistro la Bête, one of Elwood City's most renowned diners. "Ed Crosswire, I presume," said the man in a gravelly voice. With his curled moustache and short stature, and a walking stick that was nearly as tall as he was, he reminded Muffy of a character from the game _Monopoly Jr._

Mr. Crosswire rose from his seat and shook hands with him. "Meriwether Gelt," he said unassumingly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mr. Gelt paid little attention to him, as his gaze was fixed on the image of Muffy's stoic, somewhat bored face that appeared on the front of her dress. "God Almighty," he said under his breath.

"You like it?" said Muffy. She smiled broadly, and the reflection of her face on the dress smiled as well.

"It's…_fabulous_," said Gelt, bracing himself on his cane as if he might topple over. "It's simply stunning. And I thought optical fabric technology was still in its infancy. Where did you acquire that marvelous dress, young lady?"

"On another planet," said Muffy matter-of-factly.

Even as he deliberated with Mr. Crosswire, the rich old rabbit man found it hard to look away from Muffy's space dress. "The Alliance has remained vague on the question of what form of assistance it's offering," he said to the car dealer. "One thing is certain, though—rebuilding our military infrastructure will take time, resources, and above all, money. I expect I'll be heavily involved with military contractors in the coming years, so if you're looking to me for a small business loan, _now_ is the time."

_One week later_

"He was totally obsessed with my dress," Muffy told the officers. "He kept staring at it and staring at it…but I don't think he stole it. He's so freaking rich, I'll bet his _poodle_ wears a dress like mine."

"Meriwether Gelt, eh?" mused Officer Jones. "The same Meriwether Gelt who started Chick-a-Doodle, I suppose."

"What's Chick-a-Doodle?" Muffy asked her.

"It _was_ a chain of fried chicken restaurants," Jones replied. "Gelt made millions by selling out to Chicken Licken."

"I understand he's single," said her partner, Pinsky.

The officers escorted Muffy to her condo, where her worried mother waited. "My poor little darling," the monkey woman gushed. Her arms wrapped tightly around her daughter, she asked, "Did that awful man hurt you? Did he do anything nasty to you?"

"He didn't harm a hair on my head," answered Muffy, "but he broke my heart into 750 pieces. Does Daddy know? Did you tell him? I've _got_ to get that dress back, Mommy."

"Daddy's on his way," said Mrs. Crosswire comfortingly. "Don't worry, little one. You're safe with me." Looking up at the policewomen, she said, "Any guesses how long it'll take to recover the dress?"

"We won't rest until we find it, ma'am," said Pinsky, nodding.

Having left Muffy in her mother's care, the two officers made their way back to the squad car. "Let's go get donuts," Jones suggested to her partner.

* * *

To be continued 


	15. The Butler Did It

"There's got to be _something_ you can do, Jenny," Muffy pleaded. "Telepathy? Invisibility? An alien sixth sense that detects lost articles of clothing?"

The girl from the planet Kressida smiled, showing off her pointed teeth. "No, Muffy, I lose my socks in the wash like everybody else," she joked.

"Well, that's just great," said Muffy, scowling and sulking at the same time. "All of my friends are earthbound rubes except for one, and she's no help at all. I'll never see my dress again…_never._"

Jenny placed her slender fingers around the girl's shoulder. "I kinda like the dress you have on," she said helpfully.

"This old thing?" Muffy groaned. "It was made in China. China isn't exactly Orelob."

"I think it would be exciting to visit China," said the artichoke-headed alien girl.

"Yeah, right," said Muffy, folding her arms. "If I lived on another planet I'd have a force field to keep invaders out. All they have in China is a big _wall_."

The door to Muffy's condo was standing open, and a multitude of her friends and acquaintances suddenly charged through, among them Arthur, Francine, Fern, and George. "We came as soon as school let out," said Francine. "Is everything all right? Did the cops find your dress?"

"No, Francine, they didn't," said Muffy indifferently.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Fern asked her.

"Well, you can stay out of the way of the police investigation," Muffy advised her.

"Yeah, I suppose we _could_ stand around and do nothing," said Arthur. "But we're your friends, and we know how much that dress is worth…I mean, how much it means to you."

George took a bold step forward. "We're gonna help you find your dress whether you like it or not, Muffy," he stated.

"What is this, an intervention?" said Muffy incredulously.

"Uh, yeah," said Francine after a moment of thought. "That's what it is."

"Intervention! Intervention!" the kids cheered.

Muffy's face softened as she saw their determination. "Oh, all right," she said with a sigh. "I guess I _have_ been a bit of a snot."

"A snot?" said Fern. "Muffy, you've regressed all the way back to your _canonical_ self."

"Okay, everybody," said Arthur, holding out his palms. "Since I'm the student body president, I guess it's up to me to take charge. The first thing we need is someone with detective skills. Fern, that's you."

He noticed an odd darkness passing across her face. "Uh, I'm really busy right now," said the poodle girl, "but I'll do what I can."

_That's weird_, thought Arthur. _Fern usually jumps at the chance to solve a mystery. I remember she even drooled once…_

"What about you, George?" he said, facing the young moose. "You solved the mystery of Fern's ghost a year ago."

"Yeah, and I still have the bumps to prove it," said George. "Sure, count me in."

"I _love_ mysteries," said Jenny excitedly. "At the University of Kressida, I took a course where all we studied was Holmes and Yoyo."

"That's very nice, Jenny," said Arthur. "Now, the next thing we need is clues. Muffy, did you get a good look at…"

"The _butler_ did it!" exclaimed Jenny out of the blue.

"There _is_ no butler," Arthur told her.

"That's what the butler wants you to _think_," said the alien girl proudly.

Few of the kids noticed that Francine was slipping out, so engrossed were they in Muffy's account of her experience. _I'm sure it's interesting_, she thought as she skipped down the stairway to the ground floor, _but I'll just die if I don't find out what Cath and Mitch are planning to do._

She jogged all the way to the Westboro apartment building, and noticed as she passed the Sugar Bowl that Binky was leaning against the front wall with a nonchalant expression. "Hi, Binky," she greeted him.

"Hi, Francine," the bulldog boy greeted her back.

_That Clive kid had better show up_, he thought. _I've got some serious questions for him. But…what if it didn't really happen after all? What if Clive doesn't even exist?_ He stared glumly at his sneakers. _If he doesn't exist, I'll clobber him._

Kids and their parents walked in and out of the old ice cream shop with the fading paint. Minutes went by, and Binky's impatience grew. Just as he resolved to wait ten more seconds and leave for Muffy's place, he saw Clive rounding the corner of the building.

"Hello, Binky," said the calm-looking aardvark boy. "I figured you'd look for me here."

They sat down at a table in the Sugar Bowl, having ordered nothing. "It's the hardest thing in the world for me to make another person aware when I change reality," Clive related. "When I found Bernadette, and she had no idea who Binky was, I thought I'd failed completely."

"Not completely," said Binky, shaking his head. "I sorta went back and forth between being her and being me. It's not the kind of thing I'd want to do twice—with the hair and the dress and all, it felt really weird."

"Interesting," said Clive. "Maybe I'll try it on myself, and see what happens."

"Knock yourself out," said Binky. "Just don't get your heart broken, because for a girl, nothing sucks more."

Clive only smiled.

"Tell me more about your power," said Binky eagerly. "What else can you do?"

"Basically," said Clive, pondering his choice of words, "I can switch one reality for another, as long as there's not much difference between them."

"What kind of difference are you talking about?"

"I'll show you," said Clive. Looking across the aisle, he saw a little girl and boy facing each other across a table, straws hanging out of their mouths. "Watch carefully."

Binky narrowed his eyes at the pair. In an instant, so quickly that it made his brain spin, the girl was sitting on the other end of the table where the boy had been, while the boy had taken the girl's place. Neither of them seemed to notice the change in their positions.

"Whooooaaa," Binky marveled.

Clive sounded almost like a schoolteacher as he explained. "Reality A—boy on left, girl on right. Reality B—girl on left, boy on right. Everything else is the same. If I don't like Reality A, I can switch to Reality B, and vice versa."

"Cool," said Binky. "Could you turn the boy into the girl, and the girl into the boy?"

"No," Clive replied. "Well, I could change it so that the boy was born a girl and the girl was born a boy, but then their lives would be different, and they'd probably be somewhere else right now."

"Okay," said Binky, ever more intrigued. "Could you turn them into bug-eyed alien freaks if you wanted to?"

"Again, no," said Clive. "It has to be a _possible_ reality, and it has to be a reality I can _see_."

"Can you see a reality where I'm filthy stinking rich?" Binky asked him.

Clive shook his head. "Sorry."

Binky stared at him expectantly for a few seconds. "How about now?"

"Still no," said Clive.

"Okay, here's another one," said Binky. "Look for a reality where I have a girlfriend."

Clive gritted his teeth briefly. "Got it," he said.

"Is she cute?" asked Binky, his heart ready to burst.

"Yeah," the aardvark boy answered. "_Very_ cute. Button nose, curly orange hair, ears like a cat's…"

"Sue Ellen?" Binky blurted out. "_Sue freakin' Ellen?_"

"Is that her name?" said Clive. "It's a pretty name. So, do you want her or not?"

* * *

to be continued 


	16. A Change of Heart

"Yeah, Sue Ellen is cute, and nice, and all," said Binky. "But if you turn her into my girlfriend, isn't that like taking away her freedom?"

"I suppose it is," Clive admitted. "But when I changed you from Bernadette back into Binky, I took away Bernadette's freedom to stay a girl. I don't hear Bernadette complaining that her freedom was taken away…do _you?_"

"I'm not sure if I get it," said Binky, a glazed expression on his face.

"It's quite simple," Clive attempted to explain. "Every time you make a choice, you lose your freedom to make the opposite choice. Every time something happens to you, you lose the freedom of having it _not_ happen to you. So when I change a person's reality, I'm only taking away what that person has already lost."

"I've got to think," said Binky. "Can I meet you here again tomorrow?"

"Of course," said Clive.

* * *

Francine arrived at her apartment to find Catherine and Mitch on the couch, holding hands and watching TV. "Hey, guys," she greeted them. "What's up?"

"What does it look like, Frankie?" her sister replied. "We're holding hands and watching TV."

"Oookaaay," said Francine, a bit of disappointment in her tone. "Are Mom and Dad here?"

Catherine shook her head. "Just us chickens," she stated.

As she unstrapped her book bag from her shoulders, Francine inquired, "Did you talk to them at all? Did you get them to change their minds?"

"No, Frankie," said Mitch with an oblivious grin. "In fact, we've come to the conclusion that they're _right_."

Francine's jaw dropped so far that she looked almost like a nutcracker.

"We're just not ready to get married," said Catherine, no emotion apparent in her voice. "Four years from now, when Mitch graduates from college…_then_ we'll tie the knot."

"But…but…" stammered the appalled Francine. "But you're in love _now_."

"I know how badly you want your own room, Frankie," said Catherine. "C'mere, sit with us."

She patted the cushion between herself and Mitch. Francine accepted the offer hesitantly, squeezing into the snug space between the pair. "If I were you, Cath," she remarked, "I wouldn't take any guff from my parents—I'd stand up for myself."

"You'll understand when you're older, Frankie," said Catherine condescendingly. "So, did you have fun at school?"

"Uh, yes," said Francine, seeing she had no choice but to change the subject, "except that some guy attacked Muffy and stole her dress."

"Omigosh, you're kidding!" said her older sister with alarm.

"She's not hurt," Francine went on. "Whoever he was, he was only interested in the dress. I can understand why—it's more advanced than any clothing made on Earth."

"I hope he gets put away for a long time," said Mitch. "The nerve, stealing a dress right off a little girl's back."

"There's _good_ news," said Francine in a more upbeat tone. "Muffy admitted to being a snot."

"She _did?_" said Catherine, pleasantly surprised. "Then we're all agreed."

"Maybe she'll start to change now," said Francine optimistically. "Maybe she and I will be friends again."

"I thought you only liked her because of her money," said Catherine.

Francine shook her head. "That was just something I said, Cath. I was really mad at her for leaving, and I wanted to make her look bad by telling everyone that there was no other reason to like her."

"That _is_ good news," said Mitch happily. "You and Muffy are _so_ cute together."

"Here's another piece of good news," said Mrs. Frensky, suddenly marching into the room with her arms full of first-grade exercise books. "Principal Haney's back."

"He _is?_" said Francine with delight.

"Yes," her mother confirmed, "but he's in the hospital—apparently he hasn't recovered yet from whatever it was that happened to him."

"Prunella was taken over by aliens and shot him with her dad's gun," Francine told her. "That's how Prunella tells it, anyway."

"I want to go and see him," said Mrs. Frensky, "but from what I'm told, they're only letting in members of the press."

* * *

"Bitzi Baxter, Elwood Times," said the rabbit woman, holding her pass in front of the two police officers that guarded the hospital corridor.

Officer Pinsky eyed it carefully. "Looks legit to _me_," she remarked.

"Go ahead on," said Officer Jones.

Bitzi, a camera bag in one hand and baby Petula in the other, hurried into the suite where she had heard Mr. Haney was being kept. She found the principal there, prostrate on a bed, his chest bare, a variety of wires fastened to his body. A number of doctors, nurses, and security guards surrounded him.

Haney craned his neck and saw the woman through his spectacles. "Bitzi," he said weakly.

Her first act was to put her bulky camera in front of her face and snap a few pictures. She then lowered it and said, "It's good to see you, Herbert."

"It's good to be _alive_, Bitzi," said the wan-faced principal.

Mrs. Baxter glanced around at the patient's unusually large entourage. "Why all the security, Herbert?" she asked. "What are they hiding?"

"Take a look for yourself," said Mr. Haney.

With some exertion, he moved his right hand over his chest, stuck his middle and index fingers into what looked like a recess in his skin, and pulled. A rectangular section of his chest gave way, swinging like a door. What Bitzi saw behind it stunned her almost to the point of fainting—an aluminum-colored frame bedecked with buttons and dials, and in the center a multifaceted, oval-shaped device that trembled and pulsated at regular intervals.

"It's my new heart," the principal told her. "Do you like it?"

Bitzi followed her first impulse, which was to take up her camera and snap pictures frantically.

* * *

To be continued 


	17. Il Matrimonio Segreto

"She's an orphan," said Bitzi, showing Petula's innocent face and shining eyes to Mr. Haney. "Her mother was murdered by the Yordilians. The moment I held her in my arms, something took hold of me—I knew I was meant to be with this child. Harry can't appreciate that, which is why I have to leave him. You don't blame me, do you?"

The principal shook his head stiffly. "What he did to you was unconscionable," he rasped, "leaving you and your baby alone in a strange city, and in the middle of an invasion to boot."

One of the security guards waved his finger in front of Bitzi's horn-rimmed glasses. "We're getting ready to transfer the patient to a secure research facility," he told her, "so I'd appreciate it if you would wrap up your interview."

"All right," said the rabbit woman with uncertainty. "How long do you expect he'll be there?"

"That information is on a need-to-know basis," said the guard. "I don't need to know, so I don't know."

Bitzi packed her camera bag and presented Mr. Haney with one last wistful gaze. "Look me up when you get out," she said softly. "I'm pretty sure I'll be available by then."

She then leaned over and pressed her lips against the principal's pale cheek.

* * *

"Speaking of members of the press," said Catherine curiously, "is it true that Mr. Haney and Buster's mom were high school sweethearts?"

"It's true that there's a _rumor_ to that effect," her mother said facetiously.

* * *

The end of November was nigh, and darkness came early. The kids retired to their beds, their minds heavy with the cares of the day. Some found it hard to fall asleep.

_If I stay up a little longer, maybe a nice officer will come to the door with my dress,_ thought Muffy. _I wish I lived on a planet where all the cops have super crime-fighting gadgets like Dark Bunny, and all the detectives are as smart as Adrian Monk, only without the craziness. Oh, who am I kidding? Earth to Muffy, come in, Muffy…_

_I should tell Muffy what I saw_, thought Fern, _but I'm afraid she'll jump to conclusions. There's gotta be another explanation for what I saw. I wish I could un-see what I saw…_

_Sue Ellen's from another planet_, thought Binky. _Her parents tried to take over Earth. She has fuzzy lips. Big deal, big deal, big deal. I just can't think of a good reason why she shouldn't be my girlfriend. I could ask her to be my girlfriend, but what if I make a fool of myself? What if she says no? What if I spontaneously combust? Clive says there's a reality where I don't make a fool of myself, and I don't spontaneously combust, and she says yes. It would be so easy. I wouldn't have to do any real work. I wouldn't have to worry about anything going wrong. It would be the perfect life, succeeding at everything without lifting a finger. Is that the kind of life Clive has?_

_I'm hungry_, thought Buster.

_It's strange_, thought Francine. _Mom and Dad just slapped down Catherine's marriage, but she and Mitch are talking and laughing like they do every night, like nothing has changed. Where's the resentment? Where's the emotional distress?_

She listened intently while practicing her fake snores. She imagined she heard Mitch utter something about "traveling light", and moments later, Catherine cracked open the door to the girls' bedroom and stuck in her head. "Frankie?" she whispered. "Frankie, you awake?"

Francine lay perfectly still and snored peacefully.

The door squeaked slightly as it closed. By this point Mitch and Catherine had stopped laughing and making wet noises, and were only talking. Their conversation sounded very solemn to Francine, as if the couple was headed to a funeral.

"Need any help with your suitcase?" she heard Mitch say.

"Nope," she heard Catherine respond. "Don't forget, I made it through basic training."

_Suitcase?_ thought Francine. _They said nothing about going on a trip._

"Do you have your birth certificate?" said Catherine. "You'll need it for the marriage license."

_Holy heck! It's an elopement! They're running away to get married!_

* * *

To be continued 


	18. Stowaway

The realization made Francine's heart quiver. Countless questions paraded through her mind: _Do they have rings? Will there be a cake? Where will it be performed? How will they get away?_

Figuring that the last question would be easy to answer, she slipped noiselessly out from under her quilt, and tiptoed to the window. A light rain was falling in the darkness, and below one of the street lights she made out the image of a yellow sedan with a triangular sign on the top. _So they're eloping in a taxicab_, she thought. _How utterly romantic._

A firm resolution suddenly gripped her: _There's no reason for me to be left out of this. I'm going, too!_

In the lawn outside of the Westboro building stood an old chestnut tree, one of whose branches stretched conveniently close to the Frenskys' apartment. Francine slid open the window with all the quietness she could muster, placed her slippered foot on the sill, and propelled herself forward. The distance was only four or five feet, and she grabbed the branch with ease, as she had many times before. _It's incredible that parents leave trees like this one standing so their kids can get away_, she mused. _They must be totally blind._

After looking around to ensure she wasn't being watched, Francine clambered down the branch and the trunk like a squirrel in pajamas. The cold dew lying on the grass soaked through her felt slippers as she crept in the direction of Mitch's cab. Finding one of the back doors unlocked, she pulled it open, crawled inside, and closed it gently. The floor of the cab was soiled with dust and fragments of fallen leaves, but it was her hiding place, and she would have to endure it. _Wish I'd brought something to eat_, she thought, her stomach rumbling.

Minutes later, as she lay low in the taxi, her ears picked up the sound of friendly voices—Mitch and Catherine were on their way. _Mustn't make a sound_, she told herself. The trunk opened, and some heavy objects made dull noises as they were deposited inside. The voices drew closer, close enough to understand, and Francine held her breath.

The passenger-side door opened, and Mitch gestured for Catherine to enter. "I know it isn't a carriage drawn by six white horses," he said to his beloved, "but that's what imagination's for."

"I don't need to imagine anymore, Mitch," said Catherine. "All my dreams are coming true _now._" She kissed him and sat down. Her weight caused the seat to move backwards, pressing uncomfortably against Francine's arms and torso. _Have I grown, or has your butt?_ the little girl wondered.

Mitch glanced back at the apartment building as he dropped himself into the seat he knew so well. "Your parents think they're so wise," he boasted, "but they won't be the wiser this time."

"I only wish Frankie could be there," said Catherine wistfully. "Oh, well, I'll let her watch the videotape."

_It's really happening_, thought Francine. _I'm so excited to be a part of this, I could just explode!_

Mitch wasted no time in starting the motor and pulling onto the street. It was clear to Francine that he was driving far above the speed limit for a residential area. Seconds turned into minutes, and the girl began to wonder which church, or synagogue, they were going to, and why they were in such a hurry. Bumps and vibrations troubled her as the taxicab sped up even more. _We're on…the highway…?_

"Wanna listen to some music?" Catherine asked her boyfriend.

"Sure," Mitch replied. The vehicle was soon filled with radio static, alternating with hip-hop, alternating with static, alternating with a mariachi band, alternating with an advertisement for a monster truck jam, and so on. Catherine eventually settled on a station that featured something resembling the Glenn Miller Orchestra.

"I don't get this kind of music," remarked Mitch. "There are no words. What's it about?"

Time passed, and Francine began to feel a bit nauseous—not only from the movement of the taxi, but from the increasingly foul smell of the floor. _Wherever this church is, it's awfully far away_, she thought. Catherine and Mitch chatted glibly, unaware of her presence.

Two hours went by. Francine, once so excited she feared she would explode, now feared her _bladder_ would explode.

Mitch finally exited the highway, drove a few blocks at a modest speed, and turned into what Francine imagined must be a parking lot. _At last_, she thought, relieved beyond measure.

"Do you really think this is a good place to spend the night?" she heard Catherine say. "It looks a little seedy."

_Spend the night…?_ Francine almost choked. _Are you gonna get married or aren't you?_

"We'll be okay as long as we stay inside," said Mitch reassuringly.

She heard doors opening and closing, and voices falling silent. _They're gone_, she said to herself. _I really need to get out of here and find a bathroom. I don't care if Cath and Mitch see me…I have to pee right now!_

Her arms and legs were stiff and heavy as she moved them. Stepping out of the vehicle, she discovered herself in a place she had never seen before—a darkened, silent street, with assorted shop fronts and fast-food houses on either side. A sizzling neon sign above her head bore the message, GATES MOTEL. The moon was a mere sliver, partly obscured by clouds.

_I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore_, she thought, walking slowly forward. Nothing looked familiar. Everything looked frightening, even the Burger King across the way. _Where did Cath and Mitch go?_ A small sign with an arrow and the word OFFICE appeared among the shadows. _No, they wouldn't have gone in there—that's somebody's office._

She reached the sidewalk. To the right, sheltered from the glow of the street lamps by a clump of trees, was the faint silhouette of a man. _I'll ask him if he's seen Cath and Mitch_, she thought. As she moved closer to him, he began to shuffle towards her. A peculiar smell emanated from the stranger, a smell that reminded Francine of her father bringing friends to the apartment to watch the Super Bowl.

"Come here, little girl," said the stranger in a low voice. "Come to uncle Johnny. Yeah, that's the way."

"Excuse me, sir," said Francine to the unshaven, smirking man in the ragged overcoat. "I'm looking for my sister and her boyfriend. Maybe you've seen them."

"I've got candy," said the man, stretching out his hands slowly. "You like candy?"

"No, thank you," said Francine nervously, just as the tall man swooped down and grabbed her by the wrists.

* * *

To be continued 


	19. My Hero!

Francine screamed, filled with more fear than she had ever known. The strange, reeking man yanked her around and laid his rough hand over her mouth, while at the same time squeezing her left wrist so tightly she thought it would snap. "It's no use," snarled the man as she struggled fiercely against his iron grip. "Nobody's coming for you. Your mommy and daddy are dead—I _killed_ them."

_It's always someone else's kid, until it's me_, thought Francine in despair. _I'm gonna die at the tender age of ten!_ All hope seemed lost as the drunken man hoisted her off the sidewalk with an arm around her midsection. Even if she could make more than a muffled grunt, there was no one to hear, no one in sight on the darkened street…

…except for a single, small car, its headlamps staring resolutely forward like a pair of unmanned lighthouses. _Maybe it's the police_, thought Francine. Strengthened by optimism, she kicked backwards like a mule with both legs, throwing her attacker off balance. She fell briefly, managing a quick scream, before his arms latched forcefully onto her, bruising her nose and knocking the wind from her lungs.

The approaching car accelerated and started to honk, its driver apparently aware of Francine's plight. The kidnapper turned and fled, clutching her clumsily to his breast. Prevented by a chain-link fence from running into the shadows, he carried her as far as the next intersection, hounded at every step by the green Volkswagen. Francine caught a glimpse of the driver's mottled face, hound-like ears, and indignant scowl, and knew in her heart that she would be safe. Indeed, the running man was loosening his grasp and placing his hands around her waist, as if to set her down and escape on his own.

Instead, he reared back and hurled her with all his might in the direction of the oncoming vehicle. She felt a dizzying weightlessness and heard the squeal of brakes just before consciousness left her…

* * *

Opening her eyes, she saw standing in front of her a woman with long blond hair, dark sunglasses, and garish lipstick. Everything else was a brightly lit blur.

"Is…is this heaven?" she inquired.

"I'm Anna Nicole Smith," was the woman's response. "Does _that_ answer your question?"

* * *

Opening her eyes, she saw standing in front of her the same dog-faced man who had piloted his Volkswagen to her rescue. As she sat up to greet him, her head throbbed as if a gremlin was chewing on her brain. "Uuunnghhh…" she groaned.

"Don't exert yourself," said the woman in white apparel who stood next to him, clearly a nurse. "You've suffered a mild concussion."

Francine gave her head a vigorous shake, but the pain only doubled. From what she could tell through her unfocused eyes, she was in a hospital room, and she was the patient.

The man in the brown cardigan spoke in a gentle voice that belied the pale red blotches on his face. "You're a very lucky girl. If I hadn't seen you at the side of the road, you would've ended up with much more than a bump on the head."

As she gazed at him, foggy memories resurfaced—memories of being cradled in his arms, of tender and comforting words, of the softness and pleasant smell of his clothes, so unlike the stench of the drunken kidnapper. _He saved my life_, she realized. _I don't even know his name._

"My name is Polk," he told her. "My friends call me Pokey. What's your name?"

_He knows what I'm thinking_, she marveled. "I, uh, my name's Francine," she replied. "Francine Frensky."

"Frensky, eh?" said Pokey with a smirk. "Is that Polish?"

"Er, no," said the girl. "It's Polish." _Wait. That's what he just said!_

The nurse drew a small purple object on a stick from a nearby jar. "Can I interest you in a lollipop?" she asked Francine.

She didn't even look aside, so fascinated was she by the good Samaritan who had come to her aid, whose friendly manner and cardigan sweater reminded her of a certain PBS host. "How did you know I would be there?" she wanted to know. "How did you know I would need help?"

"First, let me ask _you_ a question," said Pokey. "What were you doing in your pajamas, alone, at midnight, in such a dangerous part of the city?"

Francine pondered the matter for a moment. "Gosh," she realized, "I don't even know what city I'm in."

"This is North Southampton," the nurse informed her.

"Never heard of it," said Francine, the pain in her head lessening somewhat. "How far is it from Elwood City?"

Pokey whistled incredulously. "You're quite a little traveler, aren't you? Elwood's almost a three-hour drive from here."

"I'll call your mother," the nurse offered. "Do you know your phone number?"

"_No!_" exclaimed Francine. _I can't go back out there! The only safe place is here, with Pokey!_

"Your parents must be worried," said the nurse earnestly. "Don't you want them to come and pick you up?"

Francine's mind was awhirl with fear and confusion. _That man is still out there, and other men like him_, she told herself. _Only Pokey can protect me…only Pokey…_

"Um, sure, I'd love to go home to my parents," she said hesitantly, "…but only if Pokey drives me there." A distressed look appeared on the man's face, and she mistook it for compassion.

* * *

To be continued 


	20. Separation Anxiety

The night was dark and the highway lonely, but no fear remained in Francine's heart. With Pokey at her side in the green Volkswagen, she felt not only invulnerable to harm, but also perfectly free to express her innermost thoughts. This she did, and at great length.

"So when I figured out they were eloping, I said to myself, 'No way! I've been Catherine's little sister my whole life, and I'll be darned if she's gonna get married without me there!' You know what I mean?"

"Mm-hmm," said Pokey in a tired grumble.

"When I grow up, I'm gonna elope too, whether my folks like it or not. I won't even _tell_ them I'm getting married. And if I have a little sister, I'll take her along. And we'll get married on a sunny day in June, at Niagara Falls, and if we're really brave, we'll do it on the Canadian side, eh?"

The floppy-eared man shot her an impatient glance. "I'm only doing this because tomorrow's my day off," he told her.

"Don't be so modest, Pokey," said Francine with a carefree grin. "You're a hero. You're _my_ hero."

"I'm nobody's hero," her new friend insisted. "I'm just an ordinary guy, and I did what an ordinary guy would do in such a situation—I took action without thinking. If he'd pulled a gun, I would've been just as helpless as you were."

"What do you do for a living?" asked the girl, as if she hadn't heard a word. "Are you a cop? A secret agent? A world leader?"

"I'm a high school teacher," replied Pokey. "I teach math in West Easthampton."

"Can I ask you another question?" said Francine. Not waiting for permission, she added, "Why do you have red marks all over your face?"

The man's expression became solemn. Doing his best to split his gaze between Francine and the road, he said, "I was once a very bad man—in fact, I wasn't that much different from the man who attacked you. I drank, I smoked, I picked fights, I chased women. Then one day I chased a woman I shouldn't have, and I ended up with a disfiguring disease. While I was recovering, a man of God visited me and showed me how wrong my life was, and taught me how to find peace through the Good Book and the teachings of Jesus."

"So you're a Christian?" Francine blurted out.

"I try to be one," said Pokey unassumingly.

"Christians are cool," said the monkey girl. "Well…I don't know about Zeke. He's a kid in my class, and he tends to go overboard with the Christianity thing."

Taking one hand from his tropical-themed steering wheel cover, Pokey reached into a compartment and drew out a CD case. "Here's something you may like," he said, passing it to Francine. "They're a pair of local musicians—call themselves Techno Testament." She looked over the cover of the album, with its picture of two long-haired men and a synthesizer, and the title, _The Funk and the Glory_.

"You know how to play a CD?" Pokey asked her.

"Uh, yeah," she answered. "I've seen my sister do it lots of times."

When the disc began to play, however, she heard something startlingly unlike Catherine's choice of rock music. The rhythm was driving and hypnotic, the sounds ethereal, and the lyrics extremely odd: "I made a plowshare out of my sword, and now I'm plowin' the fields of the Lord, yeah…"

_It's kinda weird_, thought Francine, relaxing her head against the seat, _but it's what Pokey listens to, so I'll give it a chance._

She soon fell asleep, and remained asleep for the majority of the trip. When they arrived in Elwood City, she awoke and directed Pokey to the neighborhood where her building was located. "You'll see a sign on the right that says, _Westboro Apartments_," she told him.

Pokey parked his Volkswagen in the same spot where Mitch had left his taxi earlier. "I'll walk you up," he offered. "I'll say hello to your parents, and explain the situation, but then I'll have to leave, you understand?"

"Uh, okay," said Francine glumly.

The temperature had dropped, and she shivered as Pokey somewhat grudgingly led her by the hand into the apartment complex. They walked the stairs together to her floor, and he politely rang the doorbell. Nearly half a minute passed, and the Frenskys finally appeared—Mrs. Frensky in a gown and hairnet, and her husband in his striped pajamas. They narrowed their eyes at the visitor, as drowsiness prevented them from opening fully.

"Frankie?" said Mrs. Frensky, puzzled. "What are you doing out of bed? Who's this man with you?"

"Elmer Polk, ma'am," said Pokey with a slight bow. "Your little girl's had quite an adventure."

"Mom? Dad?" said Francine, attempting to draw their attention elsewhere. "Cath and Mitch ran away to get married."

It worked. "What the…?" Mr. Frensky sputtered. "Why, that ingrateful…! She never _did_ listen to us!"

"We'd better get the police, Oliver," his wife suggested.

"The police can't stop them from marrying," said Mr. Frensky angrily. "_No one_ can. Those headstrong punks, thinking they know the first thing about love!"

"They could've gone ahead without our consent, and we still would've attended," said Mrs. Frensky, her tone full of sadness. "But to _elope_ like this…to leave us completely out of it? How _could_ they?"

Pokey began to back away slowly. "No offense, but I'd rather not get drawn into your affairs," he said.

Francine, horrified to see him depart, flung her arms around his lower body. "I changed my mind," she said earnestly. "I want you to stay!"

The sight of their daughter embracing a stranger made Mr. and Mrs. Frensky forget briefly about their other daughter's elopement. "I don't know that man at all," said Mr. Frensky. "How does Francine know him?"

Pokey attempted to gently twist out of Francine's hug, but she only clung to him more fervently. "I told you, I have to leave," he reminded her. Sticking a hand into his pocket, he found a small white card and offered it to the girl. "Here's my phone number—you can ring me up after I'm gone."

Francine eagerly snatched the card away from him. "Can I have your E-mail address, too?" she asked. "And your Instant Messenger ID?"

Pokey didn't answer—he was walking hastily toward the stairway. "Pokey!" cried Francine. "Pokey, come back!" She tried to pursue him, but was stopped by the firm grip of her mother's hands on her shoulders.

* * *

To be continued (Please write more reviews!) 


	21. Selective Amnesia

The astonished people of the world gaped at their TV sets. On the screen Bionic Bunny, defender of truth, justice, and multilateralism, stood at a podium surrounded by an army of reporters, camera operators, and anxious fans. A man in the crowd held up a sign saying, 'Thanks for saving my daughter,' while a nearby woman waved her own sign, 'You're so cute!'. Newsman Wolf Blitzen held up a microphone to the superhero's mouth, and he began to speak:

"Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, in the face of recent events I have decided that the time for secrecy has passed, and the time has arrived to reveal to the world…_my secret identity!_"

A collective gasp rose up from the entire planet as Bionic Bunny grabbed himself by the ears, yanked off what turned out to be a mask, and appeared in his true guise, that of…

"Pokey!" exclaimed Francine, bolting upright in her bed. The newscast had been a dream, but the pounding in her head was terribly real. Even the small amount of sunlight that streamed through the blinds felt like daggers through her eyes. _I'll sleep it off_, she resolved, and pulled the quilt over her as she lay down.

Morning came far too quickly. "Wakey wakey, Frankie," said her mother, whose head and wet, straggly hair was peering at her through the doorway.

"Uuurrghhh," moaned the girl. "My head…"

"What's wrong?" her mother asked with concern. "Headache?"

"Better call the circus," said Francine, her face half-visible under the quilt. "I think an elephant just sat on my head."

"Oh, honey," said Mrs. Frensky. As she gently rubbed her daughter's scalp, a raised, soft area came to her attention. When she applied pressure to it, Francine yelped with pain.

"That's one scary lump," the monkey woman remarked. "You banged your head, didn't you? When? How?"

"Um…uh…I don't remember," Francine lied. "I think I've got amnesia. Who are you? What's my name? Am I a girl?"

While the other children were preparing for a day of school, Francine was buckled into her father's garbage truck, en route to the nearest hospital. "Amnesia's a serious condition," said Mr. Frensky to his daughter, who had hastily changed into her usual red blouse and jeans. "It has to be dealt with right away. Fortunately, they've come up with a new, non-invasive treatment."

"What's that?" the girl asked.

"I don't know exactly," replied the sanitation worker, "except that it involves leeches."

"Ewww," said Francine. "If I were Muffy, I'd be losing my breakfast about now."

"So you _don't_ have amnesia," said Mr. Frensky triumphantly. "You remember who Muffy is."

"I do too have amnesia," said Francine determinedly. "It's the kind of amnesia where I remember some things, and forget others. I think it's called _selective_ amnesia."

Her father only harrumphed.

"Okay," she said with resignation. "I'll tell you all about what happened last night, but when we get home, I want to call Pokey. Promise you'll let me call Pokey."

"Okay," said Mr. Frensky, "though I'm not so sure Pokey wants to talk to you."

It didn't take long for one of the doctors to see Francine, but in the few minutes afforded her, she idly perused a copy of the _Elwood Daily Scoop_ that someone had left behind in the hospital's waiting room. There was a feature on the inadequacy of the city's arts budget, another about a strange-looking alien girl from the planet Kressida, and an extensive listing of local cultural events appealing to various lifestyles. Near the back there were personal ads, which she found quite amusing:

"SWM, 32, psychiatrist at mental hospital. Looking for SWF who's not afraid of commitment."

"SWM, 47, looking for SWF. I suck at summaries."

"In a world of lousy blind dates, one man has the power to set you free. The critics are raving! 'A feel-good hit!' 'A non-stop roller coaster ride!' 'Grabs hold of you and never lets go!' If you date only one guy this year, date _me!_"

The top of the last page was dedicated to advertising a Christian music festival. She gave it little regard, until a familiar name in the list of participating bands caught her eye: _Techno Testament._ She glanced at the date: _Hey, that's this weekend!_

"Hey, Dad," she said to her father in the next seat over. "Can I go to a Christian music festival?"

Mr. Frensky looked down at the ad his daughter was holding up. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked indifferently.

"Uh," said Francine, thinking hard, "to promote understanding and tolerance between different cultures and religions, and stuff."

"Sounds like a waste of time," said her father, "but if you can get one of your friends to take you, _and_ if you finish all your homework, I don't have a problem with it. You'll have to get your mother's permission as well, of course."

"Thanks, Dad," said Francine. _You are truly the mother of all fathers_, she thought.

The doctor pronounced a verdict of good health on her. "She can go to school, as long as she doesn't engage in any strenuous physical activity," he stated. "That includes sports."

"Oh, man," grumbled Francine as she squeezed back into her blouse. "Today's the day of the big soccer game."

"You'll have to wait until the _next_ big soccer game, I'm afraid," said the doctor.

"But that's not until Monday!" Francine protested.

Heeding the physician's warning, Mr. Frensky drove his daughter to school rather than let her walk. From her vantage point on the sidewalk where she had disembarked from the garbage truck, the journey up the concrete stairway to the Lakewood entrance seemed like a hazardous jungle trek. _What if I run into that man again?_ she worried. _What if he brings his friends? Where's Pokey now that I need him? Are you there, Pokey? It's me, Francine…_

"Frankie?" uttered a well-known voice. She lifted her eyes, and saw Beat Simon sticking her rabbit-aardvark head through one of the glass doors.

"Oh, hi," she said weakly.

"It's almost time for second period," said her British friend. "Are you coming in, or are you going to stand there until you start calcifying?"

"Uh, right," said Francine. Sucking up her fear, she began to move forward. _Baby steps, up the stairs…baby steps, into the school…baby steps, down the hallway…_

"Blah blah blah blah blah," droned Mrs. Krantz, but Francine's thoughts were occupied by her memories of Pokey, and how safe she had felt while riding in his Volkswagen.

Binky's thoughts, meanwhile, were focused on the object of his desire, Sue Ellen. In his mind he pictured himself grasping the bands in her hair, stretching them, and removing them, allowing her orange locks to fall and bounce. _I should walk right up to her, beat my chest, and ask her to be my girlfriend_, he thought. _Yeah. She has to say yes, because that's what Clive saw. Or is it? What if he didn't see me, but a smart Binky from another universe, a smart Binky who knows exactly what to say?_

* * *

Fear not, Binky. The answers will be revealed…in the next thrilling chapter! 


	22. Resistance Will Not Be Tolerated

At the beginning of morning recess, Francine approached her classmate Zeke England near the water fountain. "Hey, Zeke," she hailed him. "Have you heard about the Christian music festival this weekend? Are you going to it?"

"Yeah, I've heard about it," replied the Pomeranian boy. "And I'm going, but only because Mickie's dragging me. She'll go to anything with 'music festival' in its name."

"Hmm," said Francine, bemused. "I thought you'd be a fan of Christian music."

Zeke shook his head. "Christian music is _Rock of Ages_, _Amazing Grace_, and _Onward Christian Soldiers_," he told the girl. "That other stuff is just generic pop targeted at a niche demographic."

"Huh?" said Francine, giving him a blank look.

"They're _sellouts_," said Zeke with conviction.

"Oh, I gotcha," said Francine with a grin.

"They think they're communicating the gospel of Jesus to a wide audience," Zeke went on. "But the gospel of Jesus wasn't intended for a wide audience—it was intended for the chosen few, the believers. For strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leads to eternal life."

"Whatever," said Francine. "But, ya know, I used to think the Backstreet Boys were sellouts, and then I actually met them, and I realized they were great musicians."

"Uh-huh," said Zeke. "Why are you interested in Christian music, anyway? I thought you were Jewish."

"I am," was Francine's reply. "But I've got this wonderful new friend, and he introduced me to a band called Techno Testament."

"I…see," said Zeke, a hint of disdain in his voice.

"When you and Mickie go to the Christian music festival, I'd like to tag along," said Francine, clasping her hands. "That's okay, isn't it? Please say it's okay."

Zeke shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, Zeke," said Francine, and she hurried away to the playground.

After he watched her leave, Zeke lifted his eyes upward and thought, _Thank you, God._

* * *

It was the end of the school day, and Binky stood in the center court, petrified by indecision. Sue Ellen, wondering why the bulldog boy looked so nervous, approached him and said, "Hey, Binky, what's up?"

His stomach felt like one huge butterfly. "Er, ah, hi," he said timidly.

"Something wrong?" she asked him.

Summoning all his strength and courage, Binky made a resolution. _I'm gonna do it_, he vowed. _I'm gonna ask Clive to make Sue Ellen my girlfriend!_

"Be seein' ya," he said, and broke into a run. He didn't stop running until he saw the Sugar Bowl at the end of the block in front of him. As he expected, the mysterious Clive was leaning against the wall, waiting for him once more.

"Hey, Clive," said Binky breathlessly. "After much consideration, I've decided to take the easy way out."

The aardvark boy smiled sinisterly. "Nothing but the best for Sue Ellen, eh? Very well. Do you want to be aware of the change after it happens? That's an extra ten dollars."

"Ten dollars?" groaned Binky, glancing at his pockets.

"I'm just kidding," said Clive. "I'll try to make you aware. After all, what's the point of getting something you want, if your mind's been altered so you think you've always had it?"

"Yeah, what's the point?" Binky agreed. "You may fire when ready, Clive."

He bravely folded his arms and stuck out his chest—but at the same time, recalling the disorientation of being suddenly turned into Bernadette, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, another pair of eyes was facing him at point-blank range—a pair of deep blue, catlike eyes. Something soft, moist, and fuzzy was pressing against his lips. Startled by his new situation, he cried out in terror and pushed forward with his arms.

Sue Ellen wailed and plunged to the floor, landing on her posterior. It dawned on Binky that he had been thrust into this new reality in the middle of sharing a kiss with her. _Oh, mama!_ he thought. _Is there anything Clive can't do?_

That much was expected, but there was something Binky _hadn't_ expected. Sue Ellen's hairstyle and apparel had dramatically changed—her curly orange hair had been trimmed to the point that it barely covered her head, and she wore, in place of her usual green dress, a white, denim-like jumpsuit with red and green stripes that ran down the long, tight sleeves.

"What was _that_ for?" complained the cat girl as she used the post of Binky's bed to push herself to her feet. "You're not having second thoughts, are you? You'd _better_ not be having second thoughts."

That same moment at the Nordgren residence, George and Sal walked calmly through the front door to see their mother preparing a pot roast in the kitchen, and their father prostrate on the couch, his body being lovingly caressed by a raven-haired cat woman.

"Hi, Mom," said George to Mrs. Nordgren.

"Hi, Mom," said Sal to the cat woman.

George went immediately to the TV. "I wonder if there's anything good on," he said idly.

"Same old propaganda," remarked Mrs. Nordgren, in a voice almost devoid of feeling.

The moose boy switched on the set, and the talking head of a middle-aged cat woman with a furrowed brow appeared. "Your civil liberties will, for the most part, remain intact," she declared. "Resistance, however, will not be tolerated. It is in your best interests to cooperate with the occupation force. In time you will come to accept, and then embrace, the new order of your families."

George hit the Mute button on the remote control. "I'll never get used to having two moms," he lamented.

The cat woman with the straight black hair glowered at him. "Somebody's asking for a time-out," she said in a sweet but menacing tone.

Clive, in the meantime, discovered that he was riding on a city bus. This came as no surprise; he had known that granting Binky's wish would result in an altered timeline for them both. What struck him as odd was the fact that every house on the street, a street he readily recognized, had a pole sticking out of its front lawn, and a triangular, forked flag with red and green stripes attached to each pole. _It's not Flag Day, and those aren't American flags_, Clive mused. _What does it mean?_

He heard the sound of powerful rockets from afar, and watched a green, insect-shaped vessel tear across the sky far above Elwood City. _That looks like…no, it's impossible!_

Binky, as well, felt quite disconcerted by the new reality. "Er, if you don't mind my asking," he said to the indignant-looking cat girl who apparently shared his room, "what did you do to your hair? Or maybe I should ask, what did the _vultures_ do to your hair?"

Sue Ellen passed her fingers through the short, rather rough coils of orange hair that adorned her head. "I'm a Yordilian," she said arrogantly. "I don't have to abide by Earth standards of female attractiveness, because _I_ choose the boy, not the other way around."

"Uh, right," said Binky incredulously. _Who the heck is this chick? She's not the Sue Ellen I remember._

She tiptoed toward him, stretching up for another kiss. "Out of all the boys on Earth, I chose you, Binky," she said, stroking his chin. "You're mine, whether you like it or not—and I suggest you start liking it."

* * *

To be continued 


	23. Nemo's Revenge

Francine returned home to the unwelcome sight of a Yordilian officer, clad in the standard white uniform with red and green stripes. She sat in the old easy chair, her legs crossed, an alien pistol attached to the right side of her belt. Across the room from her stood the visibly worried Frensky parents.

The short-haired cat woman turned to Francine and smiled gently. "What a darling girl," she remarked.

Francine had nothing to offer her but a scowl. "Do me a favor and get off my planet," she grumbled. Finding Nemo curled up on a pillow, she picked up the cat and began to stroke his fur, hoping for a bit of consolation.

"If you don't mind, Francine," said the Yordilian, "I have a few questions to ask you."

"Don't tell her anything, Frankie," said Mrs. Frensky with firmness.

"Interfering with a police investigation is a crime punishable by imprisonment," said the officer, peering at Francine. "You don't want to watch your mommy and daddy go to jail. Who'd take care of you? Your new friend Pokey, perhaps?"

_Yes, Pokey_, thought Francine, gripping Nemo tightly to her chest. _If only he were here, he'd send all you Nerdilians packing!_

"Now, then," said the Yordilian, opening up a pad of paper, "I understand that you stowed away in Mitch Branca's taxi when he eloped with your sister."

"I have the right to remain silent," said Francine coldly.

"Not anymore, you don't," said the cat woman. "You may not be aware, but Catherine and Mitch have committed a crime against the provisional government by entering into an unauthorized marriage. Crimes of this nature, if left unchecked, will bring down the system of equitable distribution of males that we Yordilians are seeking to implement."

"I know what you're trying to implement," snapped Francine. "You _killed_ all of your men, so now you want to take ours!"

Her remark sent the Yordilian officer into a sudden fury. Leaping to her feet, she growled, "I lost my husband, my two sons, and my brothers to the pathogen. You will _not_ speak of them with such disrespect!"

Francine stared bravely at her, even as her frightened heart cowered behind her other internal organs. _My grandpa wasn't afraid of the Warsaw Ghetto, and I'm not afraid of the Yordilians_, she thought.

The cat woman, her wrath unappeased, stepped closer to the girl while taking from her belt a metallic object that resembled an electric shaver. As it dawned on Francine that she might be facing actual death, the imposing woman grabbed Nemo with her other hand by the scruff of the neck, and yanked the unhappy feline away from his owner.

"Hey! My cat!" Francine cried out.

Without a word, the Yordilian touched the vibrating end of her device to Nemo's belly. The shriek of agony he let out curdled Francine's blood. Nemo frantically waved his paws and tried to recoil from the device, but the cat woman shoved it at him again and again, inducing waves of unbearable pain.

"Stop! Stop!" yelled Francine, her eyes bursting with tears. "I'll tell you what you want to know!"

Upon hearing these words, the Yordilian switched off her instrument of torture. Nemo dangled from her fingers, looking more like a toy drained of stuffing than a cat. He whined pathetically as the woman nonchalantly tossed him into a corner.

"I'm listening," she said, gazing down at the sorrowful little girl.

Nemo's head rang like a church bell. He felt numb from his ears to the end of his tail. He lacked the strength to stand, but he retained the capacity for…_anger_.

"I will make you _suffer_ for this," he meowed weakly.

The alien device flew out of the Yordilian's hand like a dart. As if possessed of its own mind, it shot forward directly into her solar plexus and delivered its sting. She screamed, hunched over, and tried desperately to bat it away, but the torture device only charged at her over and over, sending shocks of agony through the sensitive parts of her body.

Francine and her bewildered parents watched this continue for seconds, which seemed like hours to the pain-wracked alien. Finally the device ceased from its buzzing and hovering, and fell to the floor like the inanimate object it was. The Yordilian straightened herself and heaved a sigh of relief—only to see her own pistol floating in midair, its barrel aimed at the point between her eyes.

She blazed a trail out of the apartment, the alien weapon flying after her as if supported by an invisible hand. When it became clear that she wasn't returning, Francine and her parents looked at each other and expressed their relief with smiles.

"I'm not even going to wonder how that happened," said Mrs. Frensky.

"I hope I don't see another Yordilian mug for a long, long time," said her husband.

Bending over, Francine gave her cat a grateful pat on the head. "You were wonderful, Nemo. Thanks."

"Meow," he replied, which in the language of humans meant, "See if I do the same when _you're_ being tortured, silly girl."

Once the air was clear of tension, Francine settled onto the couch, grabbed the telephone, and dialed Pokey's number. After a few rings a tired-sounding voice responded, "Hello?"

"Hi, Pokey, it's me," she said eagerly.

There was a pause. "Francine?" Another pause. "This isn't a good time to…oh, all right. How are you doing?"

"Fine," replied the monkey girl. "At school they made us take the Yordilian pledge of allegiance. While everybody else was repeating it, I recited the words to _Livin' la Vida Loca_. There were about five hundred kids in the auditorium, so I don't think anyone noticed."

"Those Yordilians," Pokey grumbled half-jokingly. "I don't know what we did to deserve being conquered by them."

* * *

So dumbfounded was Binky that he shuffled into the middle of the street without looking for cars. "I don't believe it," he said slowly, gaping at the flagpoles lining the sidewalks and the strange green aircraft that soared about in the distance. "I just don't believe it."

"_What_ don't you believe?" asked Sue Ellen, who watched him from the safety of his front lawn.

Binky turned around. "This isn't how it happened," he said with a shrug. "The invasion failed. The Alliance came to our rescue."

Sue Ellen only chuckled. "In a parallel universe, maybe," she said mockingly.

"It was _you_," said Binky, pointing at her. "You and that Doctor guy tricked the aliens somehow. You stood up in class and told us the whole story."

The cat girl shook her head. "I don't know where you're getting your information. I _betrayed_ the Doctor."

Binky barely had time to catch his jaw before it fell to the pavement.

"It was a tempting offer," said Sue Ellen, walking towards him. "'Be a hero,' he said. 'Save the world.' But Yordil's a world in need of saving, too."

"I can't _believe_ you would do that," said Binky angrily. "You're no girlfriend of mine. You're _fired_."

Sue Ellen laughed wickedly.

Her laughter echoed in Binky's brain like a devil trying to claw its way out. Panicked, he fled from the girl's presence in a straight path down the street. _I've gotta find Clive_, he told himself. _I've gotta find Clive…_

* * *

To be continued! More reviews, please! 


	24. Traitor!

The Sugar Bowl looked no different from how Binky remembered it, but to his chagrin, Clive was nowhere near it. He even searched underneath the dumpster in the back of the shop. _Where's that kid hiding?_ he thought frantically. _I need him to snap his fingers and make everything the way it was. I can't deal with this reality…_

Slumping against the wall in the same spot where he had last seen Clive, he emitted a sigh of despair. _Maybe Clive doesn't exist in this universe_, he thought. _Maybe I'm stuck here for good. Being Bernadette wasn't so bad compared to this. Geez, how could Sue Ellen turn against her own planet? I know her parents are evil alien warlords, but still…_

Five minutes went by. He watched many familiar faces walk in and out of the Sugar Bowl, and a number of boys and men who were accompanied by Yordilian females, but he saw no sign of Clive. One couple in particular, a cat girl in a blue dress and a rat boy with a slightly crooked nose, caught his attention as they passed by, hand in hand.

"Omigosh," he marveled. "Amy Belnap and Dudley Green?"

They both stopped and smirked at him. "That's right," said the young rat. "A girl in a boy's body, and a girl in a girl's body."

"And there's nary a thing you can say against it, Binky," said the cat girl. "Although I was born in 17th century New England, my current form is that of a Yordilian, so I have the same rights and privileges as our oppressors."

"Oh, man," said Binky, shaking his head. "It's so confusing. You're Dolly, _he's_ Amy…"

"Imagine how the _readers_ must feel," said the rat boy.

(A/N: Here's a quick explanation. Dollyagirlfromthe17thcenturymagicallytransportedtoourtimeturnedintoaboynamedDudleyswitchedbodieswithAmyBelnap. Any questions?)

The happy couple walked away, and Binky continued to wait. He glanced down at his Bionic Bunny watch. _C'mon, time, go faster!_ Clive failed to show, but Prunella arrived to keep him entertained.

"Hey, Binky," said the concerned-looking girl. "Have you noticed any, uh, _weird_ behavior on my part?"

Binky shrugged. "No more than usual," he said in a bored tone.

She gazed earnestly at him. "Do I ever walk around mindlessly, like a robot or a zombie?" she asked. "Have I threatened anyone? Have I turned down chocolate?"

"No," said Binky.

Prunella leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around his shirt collar. "I want you to promise me something," she said ominously. "If I ever wig out and try to kill someone, or if I ever start…talking…in…a…monotone…like…this, don't hesitate to put me out of my misery, okay, Binky?"

The bulldog boy smiled condescendingly. "Haven't you heard? Mr. Haney's back. He's not dead."

"Oh, yeah?" said Prunella, now livid with fear. "Where is he, then? _Where?_"

"La la la," said Binky, his eyes closed tightly. "I'm in my happy place, I can't hear you."

With a frustrated groan, Prunella released his shirt and trudged away. _Man, she is nothing more than a walking psycho vibe_, he thought. _I can't help but pity her, though. I can't help but pity any girl who isn't Yordilian._

The next face he saw was even less welcome. "_There_ you are," said Sue Ellen, hands on hips. "You didn't forget about dinner with my mom and dad, did you?"

"Do I have a choice?" said Binky hopelessly.

"Yes," Sue Ellen replied. "Shrimp chow mein or Salisbury steak."

Exactly one instant later a cold, creamy projectile slammed into the cat girl's face. Binky whirled, and was startled to see Arthur Read, so angry that the fire in his eyes threatened to melt his glasses. At his side stood D.W., who appeared no less indignant.

"Traitor!" shouted Arthur, ice cream dripping from his fingers.

"(Bleep)ing traitor!" his sister yelled.

"D.W.!" said Arthur, alarmed by her choice of words.

Sue Ellen sputtered as she tried to wipe the frozen confection from her eyes and nose. "Don't make me report you, Arthur!" she said, her tone of voice both threatening and wounded.

"What's that?" said Arthur, dipping his fingers into the bowl of ice cream he held. "You want _two_ scoops?"

"Whoa, whoa!" said Binky, standing between the two. "Let's not start an interplanetary incident, okay?"

"Let's go, Binky," said Sue Ellen, her face smeared with chocolate fudge. "Stupid Earth boys, can't appreciate what we're offering them," she grumbled as Binky followed her along the street.

Having used up their ice cream as projectiles, Arthur and D.W. meandered home, exchanging ideas for pranks to be played upon their father's new Yordilian wife. "Let's fill Wicked Stepmother's pillow with rats," D.W. proposed. "Then, when she goes to sleep, she'll have rat nightmares."

"I have a better idea," said Arthur. "Let's put stinging nettle leaves in her…"

He halted abruptly, as the body and face that waited on the porch to greet him belonged to someone he had expected never to see again.

"Omigosh," said D.W., her heart primed to explode. "Omigosh, is it _you?_"

A horse-faced girl in a long white dress stood before them, her brown hair waving in the breeze. "Hi, there," was all she said.

"Greta!" D.W. leaped with joy. "I knew it! Greta, you're _alive!_"

_You wish_, thought Vanessa glumly.

To be continued


	25. Back from the Dead

"Greta! Greta!" Her arms around the girl's midsection, her eyes gushing with grateful tears, D.W. repeated the beloved name over and over. "My brother can see you! That means you're _really_ alive!"

"It's good to see you, D.W.," said Vanessa, caressing the aardvark girl's hair. "I missed you while I was dead."

Scowling, Arthur confronted her. "You're not Greta," he declared. "I was there when she died. I _saw_ her die."

"Play along," said Vanessa, winking slyly at him.

Arthur's suspicious expression softened. "Uh, won't you come in…Greta?" he said, pushing the front door open.

Vanessa stepped into the Read house, D.W. still clinging to her waist, and was at once startled by the alterations that had taken place. There were several new paintings and portraits on the walls, all of which featured either groups of cat people in alien outfits, or gorgeous landscapes backed by the orange sky of Yordil. The most objectionable addition was a cat woman with blond, bobbed hair, who lounged on the sofa with a novel open in her hands.

"I see you've got one, too," she said sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Her name's Corinthia," Arthur told her. "She's actually pretty nice, except that she won't leave."

The Yordilian woman looked up from her book. "Here's someone I haven't seen before," she said sweetly. "Is she your new girlfriend, Arthur?"

"No, she's not," D.W. exulted. "She's a magical unicorn!"

Corinthia giggled. "You really love your unicorns," she remarked.

"She died, but she came back to life," D.W. told her. "She has powers, like Jesus."

"D.W.," said Vanessa, eager to silence the girl, "your brother and I need to talk in private."

"Sure," said D.W. "Can I come?"

"No, it's _private_," Vanessa explained.

"Okay," said D.W., a bit disappointed. "Just don't die again."

"I won't," Vanessa promised her.

A quick walk up the stairway later, Arthur and Vanessa were safely ensconced in his bedroom with the door firmly closed. "Why did you come back?" asked Arthur, who sat in a desk chair across from the girl. "Are you here with your family?"

"No, I'm here alone," replied Vanessa, resting on Arthur's bed. "A terrible thing has happened. I can't go back to them—they won't accept me."

"Why not?" said Arthur with concern. "They all saw you change—they _know_ you're really Van."

The long-nosed girl shook her head. "Greta's parents," she related. "They showed up, claiming I was their daughter, and there was nothing I could do, because Logan and Odette _believed_ them. So now I'm living in Greta's house, in Greta's room, in the city of the unicorn people, and unless I do something fast, I'll be there for the rest of my life—which, for a unicorn, is a very long time."

Though his friend's predicament sounded overwhelming, an idea readily occurred to Arthur. "The X-Pets," he said. "Maybe they can help you."

"You mean…" Vanessa searched her memory. "You mean those dogs that stopped the Sentinels from taking me away?"

"Yes, those dogs," said Arthur. "They must know all about the unicorns' weaknesses, if they have any. The Professor—he's the leader—is living with Alan now."

Vanessa sat up on the edge of the bed. "I've got to talk to him right away," she said urgently. "And please, Arthur, don't tell D.W. that I'm not really Greta—I don't want to burst her bubble."

Upon getting permission from Corinthia to leave, Arthur, D.W. and Vanessa raced down the block to the home of the Powers family. Arthur rang the bell, and Alan himself answered. "Come on in," he said in a friendly tone.

"Alan, I need to talk to your dog," said Vanessa determinedly.

The bear boy suppressed a chuckle. "First of all, dogs don't talk. Second, who _are_ you?"

"She knows all about the Professor and the X-Pets, Alan," Arthur assured him. "Don't worry, she's legit."

"If you say so," said Alan. "He's asleep in the den. I'll take you to him."

He led the trio into one of the back rooms, where the little Shih Tzu lay peacefully in a cot, his tiny wheelchair stowed in a corner. "Thanks, Alan," said Vanessa upon seeing the pooch. "I need to be alone with him. It's a very important, very sensitive matter."

"In that case, I'll stay out of your way," said Alan with a grin. He retreated with Arthur and D.W., closing the door to the windowless room.

Vanessa glanced in all directions. _I don't think anybody can see or hear me_, she thought.

The Professor, awakened by the noise, peered warily at her through his brown, saucer-like eyes. "Woof," he muttered, which translated means, "I'm on to you, unicorn."

"You poor little doggie," said Vanessa, sniffling. "You have to get around in a wheelchair, like I did once." A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another.

The agonized expression on her face puzzled the Professor. "Is something wrong?" he barked.

Vanessa could feel her soul leaking away. "I'm…I'm sorry, little doggie," she said miserably, sticking her hands out. "I have to do this, or…or I'll never see my family again."

Her cheeks stained with tears, she lunged forward, wrapped her fingers around the Professor's furry throat, and squeezed with all her might…

To be continued


	26. A Cry for Help

Tegan wore shorts and a bright yellow tank top, and was bending her knees while resting her back on a large blue ball that rolled freely against the wall of her room. When D.W. saw her in this position, she remarked, "That's the biggest ball I've ever seen, and I saw a _beach_ ball once."

"It's a medicine ball," said the young girl, her brown hair unkempt. "It strengthens my upper body muscles. It's part of my physical therapy."

"Is it really made of medicine?" D.W. asked her.

"Yes," replied Tegan, nodding weakly.

"How do you swallow it?" inquired D.W. "It's too big to fit in your mouth."

"It doesn't go in your mouth," said Tegan.

As she was about to describe the procedure, a desperate cry was heard by everyone in the room: _Help me! HELP ME!_

"The Professor's in trouble!" exclaimed Alan. Arthur and D.W., having learned from experience not to ignore the dog's warnings, chased after Alan as he hurried to the den.

"Um, Alan?" said Tegan, her back quivering as she braced it against the medicine ball. "I can't get up. A little help? Anyone?"

Alan threw open the door, and he, D.W., and Arthur found the Professor belly-down on the carpet, hacking up a storm, but still alive. Next to him, Vanessa kneeled and wept bitterly into her fingers. "What happened?" Alan asked her.

She looked up at him, her eyes like unfathomable pools of sorrow. "I…couldn't go through with it," she sobbed.

While Alan examined the Professor for signs of injury, Arthur put out a hand to help Vanessa up. Once the girl was standing, she laid her nose on Arthur's shoulder and wailed miserably. "I can't kill a dog! I just can't! And now I've lost my family forever!"

"There, there," said Arthur, thinking it odd that embracing his buddy Van felt like embracing a girl.

"Why would you want to kill the Professor?" asked Alan, who was cradling the smitten Shih Tzu in his arms.

"Greta's parents told me to," was Vanessa's tearful answer. "They said they would change me back into my old self."

"I thought you didn't _want_ to go back," said Arthur.

"I don't," said Vanessa. "But it's the only way. Mom, Dad, Odette…they're all looking for a boy with a big fat beak and legs that don't work, and I don't exactly fit the description."

"It appears the unicorns want me dead," Arthur uttered. "I can't imagine why."

Vanessa, Alan, and D.W. looked quizzically at the aardvark boy, whose expression was one of pure calmness. Alan was the first to recognize his condition. "Quiet, everyone," he said to the others.

Arthur smiled mysteriously. "Please don't cry, Vanessa," he said, holding the girl by the shoulders. "I've been through this situation before—a year ago, when the Sentinels tried to take D.W. away. I'll find a way to help you, but first, I need you to tell me everything you know about the von Horsteins, and why they sent you to kill me."

A hint of hope returned to Vanessa's voice. "They lost their daughter in an accident," she recalled. "They wanted to raise me in her place. That's all I know, really."

"It's a start," said Arthur. "Alan, put me down, please."

The bear boy obeyed, gently lowering the Professor onto the floor. The dog's hind legs spread apart grotesquely as he fell onto his haunches.

There was a silence, and Arthur began to speak solemnly. "I have a plan to make the Unicorn Council change you back," he told Vanessa. "It's risky, however. There's a chance you'll suffer permanent brain damage, or even death."

Alan and D.W. gaped in horror. "I'll do it," said Vanessa stoically. "What is it?"

The Shih Tzu idly licked his paw as he transmitted his thoughts into Arthur's mouth. "I've always made the claim that unicorns are immune to my telepathic powers," said the boy, "but I don't know for sure if that's actually true. If I were to employ the full force of my telepathy against them, and hold nothing back, I might be able to break through their mental barriers—but I might also destroy their minds. You can see why I've never attempted…wait a minute…you can't do that! It's _crazy!_"

"Arthur?" said Alan, puzzled.

"It's much too dangerous," said Arthur to Vanessa, his tone vehement. "He showed me, in my mind, what could happen to you."

"I saw it too," said Alan. "You could end up as a mental vegetable."

"Ewww," said D.W., grimacing. "Not spinach, I hope."

Vanessa, seemingly ignoring them, looked down at the Professor and barked softly a few times. The little dog responded with several barks and a whine. "I hate it when people talk in a foreign language in front of me," said Alan peevishly.

"What are they saying?" D.W. wondered. "I used to speak dog, but I can't anymore."

As they watched, Vanessa and the Professor fell silent and began to merely stare, as if trying to lull each other into a trance. "What are they doing?" asked Arthur, and Alan shrugged.

More than ten seconds went by, and Vanessa spoke up: "I don't feel anything yet."

A full minute passed. The Professor opened his mouth and began to pant. Sweat dripped from his floppy tongue onto the carpet. "Nope, still nothing," said Vanessa.

Alan looked at his watch. Just as the strange ceremony was reaching the two-minute mark, Vanessa's eyes glazed over, and she started to wobble. Fifteen seconds later she tipped over and fell on her face.

"Vanessa!" cried Arthur and Alan together. They quickly kneeled and turned the girl onto her back, only to be greeted by a pair of unfocused, unblinking eyes.

* * *

To be continued 


	27. Brain Blast

"Vanessa! _Vanessa!_" While Arthur shook the girl's shoulders vigorously, Alan bent down and pressed his ear to her lips, listening for breath. It was there, although shallow. As he straightened up, he noticed a startling new development—a golden, spiral-shaped horn that had sprouted from Vanessa's forehead.

"What the…?" he exclaimed. "Unicorns _are_ real!"

"Is she okay?" asked D.W. earnestly. "She's not dead again, is she?"

"No, she's alive," Alan told her. "But we'd better get help. Does anyone know the number of an ear, nose, throat, and horn doctor?"

"I'll go find some smelly salts," said D.W., and she raced out of the den.

Just as Arthur and Alan stood with the intention of calling 911, they heard a weak moan from Vanessa's lungs. "Wait," said Arthur. "She's trying to tell us something."

"Uuuurrghhh," was all the girl could manage. Her pupils, no longer dilated, now darted back and forth between the two boys.

Alan turned to the Professor, who was relaxing on the floor like a wooly throw rug. "Can you sense if her brain's still working?" he asked the Shih Tzu.

_Unfortunately, I can't_, uttered a voice in his mind. _I know now that I can get through the barrier, but getting through delicately is another matter._

"Ungungungung," mumbled the delirious unicorn girl, struggling to push herself into a sitting position. "Where am I? Who am I? When's dinner? Where's Waldo?"

"She's coming around," said Arthur with relief.

Vanessa looked down at the skirt that covered her legs, and stifled a scream. "I'm a _girl!_" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, we know," said Alan, extending a hand to help her up.

"Gotta think," she muttered. "What did Henry Skreever do when he took a potion that turned him into a girl?" She took a few awkward steps. "Oh, that's right. The first time he purged himself with ipecac syrup, and the second and third time he just waited for it to leave his system. Oh, what a cute little doggie!"

Arthur stared at her, puzzled, as she leaned over to scratch the Professor's scalp. "She doesn't remember what happened," he observed.

_That's a good thing_, he heard in his thoughts, _because I've only scratched the surface. There's much more work to be done before I'm ready to confront the Unicorn Council._

Alan and Arthur were pondering the Professor's statement when the doorbell sounded. They went to answer it, leaving Vanessa to frolic with her new canine friend. The man on the doorstep, who wore thick glasses, a pink suit jacket, and a blue bow tie, was ominously familiar to the boys.

"Professor Frink?" said Alan, startled.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Arthur asked him.

"I honestly don't know," replied the man of science. "I _hate_ crossovers."

* * *

To be continued 


	28. Frink Returns

"May I come in?" asked the odd-looking man.

"I guess so," said Alan warily. "My dad's in the back yard pruning the hedges. Whatever you do, _don't_ tell him about you-know-what."

"Have no fear, young man," said Frink, inviting himself into the house. "My lips are sealed, with the secrecy and the need-to-know and the devil take my tongue if I utter a word of it, ng'hoy."

In the den, Vanessa sat conversing with Mr. Powers and stroking the fur of the Professor, who lounged in her lap. When Frink strolled in, escorted by Arthur, D.W., and Alan, the Shih Tzu's ears perked up, and Vanessa recognized a face from long ago. "It's _you_," she marveled. "You're that crazy scientist from Springfield. I remember when you talked to my class, and showed us how to play with a Slinky."

Frink adjusted his glasses and peered carefully at the girl. "That's strange, because I don't remember _you_ at all," he mused. "And I remember every face I see with perfect clarity, particularly those faces with pointy appendages sticking out of them, case in point, yours."

"I'm a unicorn," Vanessa explained.

"Balderdash," said Frink dismissively. "The unicorn is a mythical creature, not unlike Santa Claus, God, Bigfoot, and the Loch Ness…er, scratch that last one."

"I beg your pardon," interjected Mr. Powers, who wore a grubby shirt and corduroy jeans. "Do I know you?"

"No, sir, you do not," answered Frink. "However, your son Alan and I have had a…a passing acquaintance. I am the Nobel prize-winning Professor John Frink, formerly of Springfield Heights Institute of Technology, now a freelance inventor of crime-fighting gadgets."

"Springfield Tech, eh?" said Alan's father. "Did you have anything to do with the recent disaster?"

"I assure you, sir," said Frink, "I had _everything_ to do with it, gloyven."

_Something about this crackpot makes me suspicious_, thought Mr. Powers. _For all I know I've met him before, but my memories of him were erased along with my memories of Alan. If the Yordilians hadn't confiscated my gun, I could force the answers out of him…_

"I know that voice," said Tegan, shuffling stiffly into the room. "It's my old friend, Dr. Frink."

"Why, there's the girl of the hour," said Frink proudly. "When I heard you had awakened from your coma, I came as quickly as my schedule and the alien conquest of Earth would allow. How have you been, Tegan?"

"Getting better and better," replied the girl, who stood up in a rather unstable manner. "What about the other Brainchildren? Have you heard from them?"

The scientist looked for a chair, and settled for an ornamental wood block next to the fireplace. "C.V., Claire, Victor, Iris…they're still in custody," he reported.

"I hope Claire's in a dungeon," said D.W. bitterly. "A dark, dank, dunk dungeon that smells like old shoes."

"Ultimately, Claire's not to blame," said Frink. "It was my own hubris—placing a weapon of unimaginable power in the hands of a small child—that led to the death of that girl who claimed to be a unicorn."

"But Greta _was_ a unicorn," Vanessa insisted.

"What's a hubris?" asked D.W.

"Enough unicorn talk," said Frink firmly. "I've gotten tired of denying their existence."

"What about Clive?" Tegan inquired of the scientist. "Any idea of his whereabouts?"

Frink shook his head. "No idea. That doesn't surprise me, since a boy with such a gift should be able to move among us virtually invisibly."

"Who's Clive?" asked Arthur.

"What's his gift?" Alan wanted to know.

"Ng'hey," said Frink, clearing his throat. "Clive has the power to cancel out Heisenberg's uncertainty principle by manipulating the outcome of quantum wave function collapses, even those that have already taken place. In ridiculously simplified English, he can change reality by replacing one parallel universe with another, given that the divergence between the two universes is small. If the outcome of an event or decision is not to his liking, he can choose to transfer his existence, and perhaps the existence of another person as well, to an alternate reality where the outcome was different. Suppose you're operating a lottery, and every day you draw a name from a basket containing the names of all six billion inhabitants of Earth, and give that lucky so-and-so a cash prize. Clive can manipulate events so that you draw _his_ name every day, day in and day out, no matter how equitable you try to make it."

"But that's impossible," said the astonished Mr. Powers.

"No, only extremely improbable," Frink went on. "But probability is no obstacle to one who can bend random events to his will. If he chose, he could so alter affairs that every female on Earth was born male. Imagine, the human race at the verge of extinction, due to an inexplicable phenomenon that causes only baby boys to be born! Imagine, the cat women of Yordil being hailed as saviors, and welcomed to Earth with open arms! I fear that if Clive falls into the hands of the Yordilians, they may use his power to create exactly such a world."

* * *

To be continued 


	29. Vive le R!

Francine, like her sister Catherine, had a habit of slowly extending her legs up the wall as she conversed on the phone. Her chat with Pokey had taken so long that she was almost to the point of standing on her head.

"I'll bet she's having all kinds of fun right now," the girl rambled. "Trying on pretty alien dresses, watching mile-high movies with her little alien friends, playing laser tag with _real_ lasers…yeesh, I am _so_ jealous of that stupid Muffy."

"Now, now, Frankie," said Pokey in a gently scolding tone. "When your heart's full of love, there's no room left over for jealousy."

"It's just not fair," Francine complained. "I always get the short end of the stick, while _she_ gets the end with the lollipop. While she cavorts around on Planet Fun, I can't even tie my shoes without a Yordilian breathing down my neck, and I have to sit in the same classroom with Sue Ellen, who used to be my friend, who betrayed us all to the aliens, who thinks she's better than the rest of us put together."

"Try to look at the bright side," Pokey counseled her.

"There _is_ no bright side," said Francine. "Just a lot of dark sides. Buster's whole family is gone, and so's Beat, and nobody knows where they are. All my friends are getting Yordilian moms, and I'll probably get one soon, and when I grow up, I'll have to share my husband with one."

"Don't give up hope, Frankie," said Pokey. "Everything will work out for the best, and even if it doesn't, you can always run away and join the R."

"What's the R?" Francine asked him.

"I can't use the full word, because the Yordilians may be tapping my line," Pokey explained. "But there are many people, God-fearing people, who refuse to submit to this new polygamous system, and they've formed a secret movement—that's the R. They believe that if they R the Yordilians every chance they get, they'll eventually overthrow the occupation and get their freedom back."

"I hope they succeed," said Francine. "Those Yordilians have got a swift kick in the butt coming."

* * *

Professor Frink, meanwhile, was continuing his deliberations with Alan, Tegan, Arthur, D.W., Vanessa, and the little Shih Tzu. "My other reason for coming to Elwood City is to see Prunella Prufrock," he told the kids. "By extracting the technology from the microchip in her brain, I hope to create a cranially implanted device that will nullify the powers of the Brainchildren, thus allowing them to re-integrate with normal society."

"Uh, yeah," said Arthur. "But wouldn't you have to cut open her brain to get at the chip?"

"Glavins, no," said Frink with horror. "I simply can't bear getting gray matter on my fingers, with the squishing and the foul smell and the death. No, I intend to scan the inside of her head non-invasively, using a nifty invention of my own inventing, which I like to call the Tomographic Gamma Blaster."

"Sounds dangerous," remarked Tegan.

"Sounds _cool_," enthused D.W.

"It's virtually risk-free," Frink went on. "Indeed, the chance of death is slightly less than the chance of developing super powers, ga-hey."

The doorbell rang yet again. "I'll get it," said Alan, rising. "Maybe it's the other Brainchildren."

He was a bit surprised to see Binky and Sue Ellen on the doorstep, hand in hand. "Oh, hi, Binky," he said to the boy. "Hi, traitor," he said to the girl.

"Hmph," said Sue Ellen arrogantly. "You can say it a million times, but that won't make it true."

"I see you've got company," said Binky, peering into the den. "I just want to ask you something, really quick." He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for a kid named Clive. Do you know him?"

_Coincidence…or not?_ Alan asked himself. "Hmm…Clive, Clive…can you describe him to me?"

"Aardvark kid, about so high," said Binky, his hand level with his shoulders. "No glasses. It's really important that I find him."

"Tell me more," said Alan.

Binky thought and thought. _What to say? I can't tell him the truth, not with Sue Ellen here._ "Uh, well, he has…I mean, I've _heard_ he has these weird powers…"

"Oh, _now_ I know which Clive you're talking about," said Alan. "Could you do me a favor, Binky? When you find him, bring him here—I'd like to have a chat with him."

"Sure, Alan," said Binky.

Once the visitors had left, Alan hurried back to the den to report his news. "Binky's looking for Clive too," he told Professor Frink. "It sounds like they've actually met."

"Excellent," said the scientist with satisfaction. "We must proceed carefully. If Clive suspects that we know of him, he may lash out against us, with the changing and the confusion and the doo-doo-doo-doo Twilight Zone music…"

"Excuse me," Vanessa chimed in. "What are you planning to do to Clive once you find him?"

"Quite simple, small girl," replied Frink without hesitation. "I intend to see to it that he never, ever uses his powers again."

* * *

to be continued 


	30. Purple Monkey Dishwasher

Having resolved on a course of action, Dr. Frink departed Alan's house for the hotel where he was staying. Alan and Tegan faced the unpleasant duty of eating dinner with a Yordilian woman who had her eyes on Mr. Powers, and left Arthur, D.W., and Vanessa alone to play with the new family dog. This consisted, for the most part, of Vanessa and the Professor barking back and forth in a serious manner.

"I wish you'd tell us what you're talking about," said Arthur to the unicorn girl.

"There's not much to tell," was Vanessa's reply. "He wants to go through more sessions with me, and he won't say how many. I guess he's trying to figure out how to communicate with me telepathically without having to shout at the top of his, er, thoughts."

"How long will that take?" Arthur inquired.

Vanessa shrugged. "No idea."

"But I like you the way you are _now_," said D.W. earnestly. "I don't care if you're not really Greta, as long as I get to _call_ you Greta."

"I have no choice," said Vanessa. "The von Horsteins thought of everything—they even made up a phony birth certificate identifying me as their daughter. If I try to go back, they'll just show up and take me away again."

"But you _do_ have a choice," said D.W. excitedly. "You can stay with _us_."

"Are you kidding?" said Arthur. "There's no room in our house. Grandpa Dave, Corinthia, the new baby…"

"It's kind of you to offer, D.W.," said Vanessa, "but I couldn't possibly purple monkey dishwasher."

"What…?" said Arthur, surprised.

"Deep zamboni undulate mister piña colada," said Vanessa calmly.

While Arthur and D.W. stared in wonder at the babbling girl, the voice of the Professor spoke to their minds. _Sorry about that_, said the dog. _I hit a little too close to her speech center._

* * *

Clive stood and waited at the stop, but no bus appeared. He waited and waited, all the while pondering his situation. _I handed Earth over to the aliens_, he realized. _Somehow turning Sue Ellen into Binky's girlfriend switched things around so the Yordilians won the invasion. That means my powers don't just affect the planet I'm on…they can affect other planets…the entire universe!_

Darkness was descending, and the vinyl coat he wore offered little protection from the cold. This, and the implications of what he had done, caused him to shiver. _I have to get back to Elwood City and undo the change if I can. Why hasn't the bus come? I've taken this one before…_ He began to notice that nobody was on the street except for him, and it struck him as odd. No cars, no drivers, no pedestrians—nothing but a pair of uniformed women who were approaching him at a leisurely pace. _Police officers_, he thought with relief. _Maybe I can ask them about the bus._

The blue-suited ladies took up positions on either side of the boy. "You're out past curfew, young man," said one of the officers. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us."

"Curfew?" asked Clive, a bit confused, a bit defiant. "You mean it's a crime now to stay up past my bedtime?"

"I know, it's a sucky law," said the other officer. "But we have to enforce it, or it's _our_ butts."

"Oh, you're talking about _that_ kind of curfew," said Clive innocently. _They're gonna tell me to stop playing dumb_, he thought, _and then they're gonna take me to jail._

"The Yordilians are in charge of the police departments now," the first policewoman explained. "They've been getting more and more paranoid ever since the R bombed one of their bases."

"The R?" said Clive. "What's that?"

"I can't tell you," said the second policewoman suspiciously. "They might be listening."

"The punishment for breaking curfew is execution by firing squad," said the first. "However, since you're obviously not from this planet, or at least not from the _surface_ of this planet, we'll let you off with a night in jail."

"She's kidding," said the second. "The punishment _is_ a night in jail."

Clive sighed wearily and looked at his shoes. _It would be so easy to wipe them from existence_, he thought. _But they did nothing to deserve that, and I'm tired._

* * *

To be continued 


	31. The Evening and the Morning

Sue Ellen gazed wistfully at Binky. Binky stared blankly at Sue Ellen. The TV was on, but the sound was muted. "Let me get this straight," said Binky. "The Yordilians imposed a curfew, so people can't leave their homes after 8 p.m."

The cat girl nodded.

"But you're here, at _my_ house," Binky pointed out, "and it's 8:30. Which means either the curfew doesn't apply to you, or you're planning to…to…"

"Spend the night here," Sue Ellen confirmed.

Binky wished desperately for a glass of water to wash down the lump in his throat.

"Don't be such a nervous Neddy," said the girl. "I'm ten, you're eleven. What can happen?"

"What can _happen?_" said Binky incredulously. "What if I accidentally see you while you're changing into your pajamas?"

"Silly boy," said Sue Ellen, punching him gently on the shoulder. "Haven't you ever seen a girl with no clothes before?"

"I've _been_ a girl with no clothes before," Binky was tempted to say.

"If sleeping in the same bed with me makes you uncomfortable," Sue Ellen offered, "you can sleep on the couch instead."

_She's, like, the bride of the monster_, Binky thought anxiously. _Was she the best girlfriend Clive could set me up with?_

He spent an uneasy night on the couch, sleeping fitfully. In his dreams he pictured himself and Sue Ellen as grownups, walking down the aisle to the wedding altar with rifle-bearing Yordilian guards standing on each side. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong were there, weeping tears of joy; Binky's parents were also present, shedding tears of another kind.

"Isn't this what you've always dreamed of?" gushed the young cat woman in the bridal dress.

"Every night for the past ten years," replied Binky the groom.

Morning arrived, as welcome to him as a long-lost relative. Seeing that he was the first one awake, he decided to take advantage of his momentary privacy by making some calls. Still in his sleepwear, he tiptoed to the telephone and dialed Fern's number.

"Hello?" he heard the poodle girl's groggy voice utter.

"Fern, it's me, Binky," he half-whispered. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

"No," she said, stifling a yawn. "We've been up for an hour. We wanted to get a jump on the day."

"Look, I know you're busy trying to solve the mystery of Muffy's stolen dress…"

"Muffy stole a _dress?_"

"Er, ah, no. Never mind. Fern, I'm in a tight spot, and I could really use the help of your sleuthing skills. There's this kid named Clive, and he's disappeared, and I need to find him, like, pronto. I don't know much about him, except he hangs out at the Sugar Bowl after school sometimes."

"I'd love to help, Binky," said Fern hastily, "but we, er, have an urgent matter of our own that we have to attend to."

She glanced aside at her father, who was examining the wiring inside a small, radio-shaped box. "We're going to have breakfast with the senior citizens," he reminded her.

"Yeah, that's right," said Fern into the phone. "We're having breakfast with the senior citizens."

"I'll carry the plastic explosives out to the car, Bill," said Fern's mother, strolling through the kitchen with a plain cardboard box in her hands.

"All right, Doria," said her husband, "but whatever you do, don't drop them."

"Okay, Fern," said Binky, sounding a bit disappointed. "Hope you have fun. Say hi to your grandpa for me."

"'Bye, Binky," said Fern, hanging up the receiver. Turning to her father, she asked with an eager face, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Why, of course, Fern honey," said Mr. Walters. "You have the most important job of all—you get to _push the button_."

* * *

Francine, also, was seizing the day by making an early phone call. "Hi, Pokey," she said, her tone enthusiastic, her hair unbrushed. "It's me."

"Frankie?" said the man, taken aback. "It's nice to hear from you again so soon, but I have to get ready for school, you know."

"So do I, duh," said Francine. "And I'm a kid. You're just a teacher. _I'm_ the one who has to do all the work." From a nearby room she could hear her mother laughing hysterically.

"Make it quick," said Pokey.

Francine began to stretch her legs up the wall. "I wanted to tell you about my quilt," she began. "It was made by native Americans from Santa Fe. Other quilts are made up of squares, but my quilt's different. It has diagonal shapes and patterns all over it."

"Sounds like a lovely quilt," said the man wearily.

"I'm glad you think so," said Francine. "You're a true friend, Pokey. Just hearing your voice on the phone makes me feel safer."

* * *

Clive awoke to the sound of a policewoman sliding open the door to his jail cell. "On your feet, prisoner," she said firmly but jokingly. "You've served your time, and now you can look for somebody else to mooch off."

The boy stood up grudgingly. "Don't I get to take a bath while I'm here?" he inquired.

"No, you'll have to wait until you get home," said the officer. "Unless you don't _have_ a home, in which case there's a YMCA five blocks from here."

Clive retrieved his backpack from the lady before walking through the doors of the jail to freedom. "Are there any other new laws I should know about?" he asked peevishly.

"No," replied the blue-suited woman. "Have a good day, and remember—no TV until you finish your homework, or else you'll end up right back here."

He marched toward the nearest bus stop, feeling both disheartened and relieved. _They're so intimidated by the Yordilians, they didn't even realize they had one of the Brainchildren in their jail_, he mused. _Could it be that, in this reality, the police have stopped looking for me altogether?_

* * *

To be continued 


	32. The Crying and the Screaming

Vanessa was aroused from slumber by a rough, moist tongue against her cheek. "Huh?" she mumbled. Opening her eyes, she saw two paws and two wheels resting on top of her. "Oh, no," she protested. "It's _way_ too early, Professor."

Alan, having put on a shaggy brown sweater in preparation for his trip to school, stopped at the guest bedroom to bid farewell to Tegan. He found his sister deeply engrossed in a book, _A Long-Winded History of the Universe_ by Stephen Ducking.

The teenage girl looked at him and grinned. "Now that my powers are gone," she said, "this is the only way I can get inside the mind of a great scientist."

"Gosh," said Alan, astonished. "I can't imagine what it's like to have such an ability and lose it."

Tegan nodded. "They say that when you lose one sense, your remaining senses become sharper," she said wisely.

"Yeah, they _do_ say that," said her brother.

"Not that it makes any difference," said Tegan, her tone darker. "However sharp my vision may become, I still can't _see_ a mindset, or a misunderstanding, or a lie, any more than I could _hear_ a color if I were blind."

Alan, not sure of what to say, fell silent.

"I wish I could be just telepathic, like Iris," the girl mused. "When I read your mind I invade your privacy, but that's the end of it. When I go into your mind and change your personality, or swap it for someone else's personality, that's not just invading your privacy—that's invading _you._"

As he opened his mouth to offer a helpful comment, Alan heard a shrill scream from the living room. "It's Vanessa!" he exclaimed. Without hesitation he turned and hurried toward the source of the noise, as Tegan struggled to her feet and followed slowly.

Vanessa screamed again and again. Alan saw her writhing on the couch, her eyes frantic, her chest heaving, her horn in full view. "What's the matter?" he inquired. "Are you in pain?"

The girl aimed her eyes at him, acknowledging his presence but still screaming as if in agony.

"Professor!" said Alan, shooting an angry glare at the little Shih Tzu, who watched the scene attentively from the armrest.

_My bad_, was the only thought he heard from his pet.

"It's over," said Alan sternly, as Vanessa's screams began to subside. "Whatever you're doing, it ends now. Can't you see you're _torturing_ her?"

_It's not going as well as I hoped_, thought the Professor.

"No! Mustn't stop!" cried Vanessa between screams. "My parents! My family!"

"Alan's right," said Tegan as she approached with mincing steps. "You've got to find another way."

"There _is_ no other way!" Vanessa shrieked.

_So now I possess the power to send a unicorn into paroxysms of pain_, Alan and Tegan heard the little dog think. _But what use is it to me?_

"Professor," said Alan, scowling, "you're not just getting back at Vanessa for trying to kill you…_are_ you?"

_Why, Alan, I'm insulted. Such petty vindictiveness is far beneath me._

Her breathing labored, Vanessa held out a hand so Alan could pull her into a sitting position. "Professor, you've got to continue," she addressed the Shih Tzu. "I don't care if it hurts. It can't possibly hurt worse than getting run over by a car."

The dog's response was a brief "woof".

"What do you mean, _woof?_" Vanessa retorted, but the Professor only leaped down to the floor, the wheels of his chair making a clattering sound. "Hey, come back here!" she called after the retreating canine.

"What was _that_ all about?" Alan wanted to know.

"He said…" Tears of despair began to flow down Vanessa's cheeks. "He said he washes his paws of the whole matter."

* * *

As he walked into the fifth-grade classroom with Sue Ellen in tow, Binky observed how the other students alternated between glances of outrage at his girlfriend, and glances of pity at him. Mrs. Krantz hadn't changed much, but her room had—a forked Yordilian flag hung from a pole in the wall, and the paper letters strung along the ceiling had been replaced by an alphabet he didn't recognize. _Brave new world, brave new school_, he thought.

"Welcome to class, children," said the moose woman, who sounded rather exhausted. "This is our fourth lesson on Yordilian sentence structure. Before we get started, are there any questions about what we learned in the first three lessons?"

Binky raised his hand. "Why don't the Yordilians just learn English?" he asked.

"Because Yordilian is superior to English in every way, silly boy," said Sue Ellen haughtily.

"It does have its advantages," Beat spoke up. "You can say much more with fewer syllables. For example, 'I have to go to the toilet' becomes 'khe moziggat'."

"Why not just say, 'gotta pee'?" Binky suggested.

"It's 'khe moziggat' if you're a girl," Mrs. Krantz explained, "and 'khe moziggut' if you're a boy. Be sure to use the right one, or your Yordilian friends will laugh at you and tell dirty jokes."

"But that doesn't make sense," said Binky, increasingly confused. "Why have one word for girls and another word for boys?"

"Looks like Binky didn't do _her_ homework," said Arthur facetiously.

As the lesson progressed, it became apparent to Binky that even Mrs. Krantz scarcely comprehended the strange characters she was writing on the blackboard. The more lost he became, the sleepier he became, until he dozed off completely. In his daydream he pictured himself and Sue Ellen at the altar, exchanging vows in a gibberish language.

Second-period music class held out little hope, as his alternate-reality self had been practicing a Yordilian patriotic song in an arrangement for clarinet. Only morning recess and the playground offered a reprieve from the educational mandates of his alien conquerors. Yet, as he trudged toward the nearest school exit with a number of his classmates, a familiar voice distracted his attention…

"Binky Barnes!"

He whirled, and the face he beheld might as well have been the face of God descending from the clouds. "Clive!" he blurted out. "Clive, it's you!"

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner," said the aardvark boy, a pack slung over his shoulder. "I was thrown in jail for breaking curfew."

Before Binky could utter an earnest request, Sue Ellen stepped forward and examined what to her was a strange boy. "So _you're_ the mysterious Clive," she said snappishly. "What's the deal? Why are you so freaking important?"

"You…don't have as much _hair_ as I expected, Sue Ellen," remarked Clive innocently.

Alan, who had witnessed the reunion of Clive and Binky from his position near the water fountain, reached stealthily under his right sweater sleeve and made a slight button-pressing motion.

"What do you see, Clive?" Binky pressed the boy. "Can you see a reality where the you-know-who didn't take over the you-know-what?"

"What are you talking about?" said Sue Ellen impatiently. "You'd better not be speaking in code, because anyone who speaks in code is automatically suspected of belonging to the R."

Clive shook his head. "Now _you're_ speaking in code. What exactly is the R?"

"The R is the Rebellion," Sue Ellen told him, "though they like to call themselves the Resistance. It was they who set off a bomb and disabled a Yordilian cargo ship today."

"All right already," said Binky, cutting her off. "We can stand around and point fingers, or we can let Clive do his job. How about it, Clive?"

"All I can see," said Clive slowly and thoughtfully, "is Sue Ellen in a pretty green dress, with orange curls all over her head, tied up with scrunchies."

As Binky was about to say, "Make it happen," he noticed an odd-looking, bespectacled man clad in a pink jacket, walking toward the group quietly enough to not be noticed. Recognition was instantaneous—it was Frink, the weird scientist who had once visited their class in the company of the young Lisa Simpson.

To Binky's shock, Frink stuck his hand into one of his inner pockets, drew out a pale white object shaped like a pistol, and pointed its barrel directly at the back of Clive's head…

* * *

To be continued 


	33. I Did It!

"Clive! _Look out!_"

His strength and speed enhanced by panic, Binky shoved the boy with both hands, sending him crashing to the floor—just as a whistling projectile from Frink's weapon flew between them. The tiny object slammed into the upper right arm of Arthur, who at first thought he had been bitten by a mosquito with razor-sharp teeth.

Binky narrowed his eyes at the scientist, who showed no emotion as he lowered his gun to fire another volley at Clive. "Get out of here!" he ordered his friend. "_Run!_"

Clive bounded to his feet and grabbed Sue Ellen by the wrist. Binky threw his own body into Frink's line of sight, feeling a painful prick in his abdomen only microseconds after the professor pulled the trigger. _If I survive this, I'm gonna be a bodyguard when I grow up_, he thought as he plunged to the ground.

Dragging Sue Ellen behind him, Clive rushed past Arthur, who grinned vapidly as the amazing nature of his surroundings became clear to him. "Hey," he said in a slurred voice, his pupils shrinking, "what a wonderful kind of…", and he fell forward onto his glasses.

Binky stood up, furious, his fists clenched, determined to protect Clive, wherever he might be at the moment. Frink tried to aim past him to the left, but Binky lurched left to block him. Frink aimed to the right, but Binky moved to block him again. Then, incredible as it seemed, Frink aimed left, right, upwards, _and_ downwards at once, as if he had five arms and four guns, which he did.

"I didn't know you were Spider-Man," Binky mumbled just before slumping to the floor, unconscious.

The kids in the vicinity all moved to one side or the other, expecting Frink to pursue Clive and not daring to oppose him. Before the scientist could start, however, an irresistible force seized his gun arm and yanked it behind his back, twisting it to the breaking point.

"Nobody carries a gun into _my_ school, you scumwad!" roared Rodentia Ratburn.

"Ouch!" cried Frink in agony. "Don't hurt me, nice lady!"

While the Lakewood pupils cheered the heroic Rodentia, Clive and the reluctant Sue Ellen raced through the playground, searching for a hiding place. "What's all this about?" the cat girl demanded. "Who _was_ that man?"

"I have no idea," replied Clive breathlessly. "All I know is, he's after _me_."

"_Everyone's_ after you," said the befuddled Sue Ellen. "What's your crime?"

"My crime is," said Clive, stopping and gazing at her with something resembling tenderness, "that I can do _this._"

* * *

Opening his eyes, he discovered himself in downtown Elwood City, facing the granite pillars of the courthouse from the opposite sidewalk. He looked this way and that, searching for the abominable banners of the occupying Yordilians, but, to his elation, saw none. The morning sun shone upon his head, a few small cars rolled by, and a rabbit woman strolled out of a Starbucks shop with a cup of espresso in her hand.

To him, it resembled a normal day on Free Earth.

Overwhelmed by joy, he raised his fists to the sky and shouted, "I did it! _I did it!_"

He felt something like the impact of a needle on the back of his neck. Ten seconds later he lay on the concrete, dead to the world.

Professor Frink and Prunella stood on either side of his unconscious form. "With all his powers," mused Frink, "he was no match for a humble tranquilizer dart, with the stinging and the falling and the sleeping."

The rat girl nodded slowly.

"Now, then, Prunella," said the scientist as he bundled the helpless Clive into his arms, "you've got a date with a Tomographic Gamma Blaster. Come along."

"Yes, my master," said Prunella flatly.

* * *

To be continued 


	34. A Woman Scorned

It was Friday, and school had reached its end. Binky, for the third time in a week, waited next to the Sugar Bowl entrance for the appearance of his powerful new friend. _Clive told me to meet him here if I changed my mind about Sue Ellen_, he thought. _Well, I changed my mind, and I'm here, but he's not. I hope nothing bad's happened to him._

Inside the ice cream shop, Muffy located the table where Arthur, Fern, and George were deliberating over sodas. "Hi, everyone," she said, squeezing into an empty seat. "I've got some news that may interest you."

"Let's hear it, Muffy," said George.

"Remember when I told you about Mr. Gelt, and how rich he is, and how he looked funny at my dress?" the girl began. "You won't believe it, but he's coming back tomorrow—and he's gonna lend my dad _ten times_ the amount of money he asked for."

Arthur whistled. "Ten times? And it was a lot to begin with."

Muffy smiled proudly. "It's enough seed money to open _three_ new car lots," she told her friends. "And if they succeed, I'll soon be living in a mansion and riding in a limo again."

"Hmm," said Fern, her eyes fixed on the smiley-faced coaster underneath her drink. "I wonder what made Mr. Gelt so generous all of a sudden."

"That's a good question," said Muffy. "I was hoping the three of you would put your heads together and deduct the answer."

"_Deduce_, Muffy," said George.

"It seems to me," said Arthur after taking a sip through his straw, "that if Mr. Gelt _did_ steal the dress, then he'd want to stay far away from Muffy's family, and not do any more business with them."

"So we can pretty much rule out Mr. Gelt," George added.

"No, we can't," Fern interjected. All eyes turned toward the poodle girl, whose face looked glum and worried.

"What've you got?" Muffy asked her.

Fern stared directly into her eyes. "When Mr. Gelt arrives tomorrow," she said seriously, "_I_ want to be there."

Before the others had a chance to _deduce_ her meaning, they saw Prunella walking up to their table, her scarlet hair a bit disheveled. "Hi, Prunella," Muffy greeted her.

"Hi, Muffy," said the rat girl. "I wonder if any of you can help me, because I'm really confused."

"Confused about what?" said Arthur.

Prunella's expression became grim. "I remember going to school this morning," she stated. "I remember first and second period, and going out for recess. But from then until the end of the day, it's…it's a complete blank!"

Fern mulled over what she had said. "Maybe your memory problem's coming back," he suggested, "though I hope not."

"No, I think it's something else," said Prunella. "I feel like…something _happened_ to me during that time."

"Maybe you were abducted by aliens," George postulated.

"Yeah," said Muffy. "Maybe it _was_ aliens."

"Definitely aliens," said Arthur.

* * *

A short while later Binky stood at a literal and figurative crossroads, debating whether to proceed to the left and to his own house, or to proceed to the right and visit Sue Ellen. _I can't count on Clive anymore_, he told himself. _If I want her to be my girlfriend, I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. I can do this. If Clive was right, then it's our destiny to be together, and I have nothing to fear._

He took a wavering step to the right. Before long he was prodding himself to march in the direction of Mrs. Krantz's house, his book bag bouncing as it hung over his shoulder. _I'm doing it, he thought. I'm really doing it. It's like destiny is pulling me forward._

He rang Sue Ellen's doorbell, and the cat girl opened the door to welcome him. "Uh, hi, Binky," she said, looking somewhat disoriented.

"Can I come in?" asked the bulldog boy. "I've got something to talk to you about."

"Sure," said Sue Ellen, shutting the door after he entered. "In fact, I've got something to talk to _you_ about as well."

"You go first," said Binky. _Maybe she'll ask me to be her boyfriend, and spare me the trouble._

To his surprise, the orange-haired girl flew into a rage, seizing him by the lapels of his sweater. "How did you _do_ this?" she snapped, her face livid. "You, Clive, the rebels…you're playing some kind of trick on us, on _all_ of us!"

"Huh?" was all Binky could say.

Sue Ellen's eyes flashed with anger. "What happened to the Yordilian forces?" she demanded. "Why am I living with my teacher again, instead of with my parents? _How did my hair grow back?_"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Binky, shaking his head innocently.

She let go of his sweater, only to pull back her tightened fist and let it fly at Binky's nose. Such was the force of the blow that he fell helplessly onto his posterior.

"Owww," he groaned, rubbing his stricken, bleeding face. "Geez! I guess this isn't a good time to ask you to be my girlfriend."

"Your _girlfriend?_" Sue Ellen laughed incredulously and wickedly. "You wish! Why would I want a big, stupid lummox like you, when I can have any boy in the world?"

Blood dripped from Binky's nose as he stood on his feet. "Yeah," he said weakly. "Why indeed?"

Then, without another word, he flung open the front door and hurried toward the street. "Come back here!" yelled Sue Ellen, stopping on the patio to watch him flee. "I want an explanation!"

* * *

To be continued 


	35. Twist of Faith

Behind the closed door of their room, Mr. and Mrs. Frensky quietly discussed their daughter's future. "I'm afraid that she'll get crazy ideas from going to things like this," Mrs. Frensky worried. "Just look at Catherine. We carefully instilled all our values in her, but she defied us anyway—which means we've got to work _twice_ as hard with Francine."

"I don't see any harm in it," said her husband. "If anything, she'll see for herself how inferior Christian music is to Jewish music."

In the humble living room of the Frensky apartment, Francine was busily putting on her coat while Mickie Chanel made condescending remarks about her home. "If we tried to move our staff into quarters like this, they'd all go on strike," said the red-haired aardvark girl. "And only one bathroom? What do you do when two people want to read a magazine at the same time?"

"I think Francine's place has a nice, homey quality to it," said her foster brother, Zeke England.

"More like a _homely_ quality," said Mickie.

Francine brushed her hands together, signifying that she was ready to leave. "I've got one for _you_, Mickie," she said with a grin. "Your bedroom is _so_ freaking big, I'm surprised you haven't died from explosive decompression."

"Oh, yeah?" said Mickie facetiously. "Well, you're _poor._"

The three kids hurried down the staircase to the limousine that waited outside the building, trading barbs along the way. "I can see your dad's butt crack when he picks up our garbage," said Mickie.

"Somewhere inside you there's a good kid, decomposing," said Francine.

"Did you ever stop to think," said Zeke, "that on Judgment Day, God will reward the poor and curse the rich?"

"Did you ever stop to think, _period?_" said Mickie.

Once aboard the spacious, new-smelling vehicle, Zeke had more to say. "Thinking you're better than everyone else is pride," he warned Mickie, "and pride goeth before a fall."

The richly dressed girl shook her head. "I don't think I'm better than everyone else. I'm not better than Paris Hilton, for one. Orville, take us to the Patterson Events Center."

"Yes, Miss Mickie," said the chauffeur, a cat man with a thick Cockney brogue.

The long, long limousine pulled onto the street and drove away; Francine marveled at how silent the motor was, compared to the loud grumblings of her father's garbage truck.

"I've said some mean things to you, Francine," said Mickie from the opposite seat, "but in reality, I think you're cool. I mean, you were almost kidnapped, yet there you are, calm as a cucumber. If that had happened to me, I'd _still_ be screaming bloody murder."

Francine smiled. "I have my friend Pokey to thank for that. Whenever the world starts to scare me, I just give him a call, and his voice sets me at ease."

After a thoughtful pause, Mickie asked her, "Have you ever heard of a little thing called hero worship?"

"Yeah," the monkey girl replied. "That's what I feel for David Beckham. But with Pokey, it's something beyond even that."

"Wow," said Mickie. "I don't know what comes after hero worship, unless it's…_superhero_ worship."

"Only Jesus deserves to be worshipped," said Zeke, staring earnestly at Francine. "Pokey saved your life, but Jesus saved our _souls._"

"What does that mean, exactly?" Francine asked him.

Zeke took a breath. "Let's say the man who tried to kidnap you is the Devil," he began. "The Devil comes up to you with a bag full of candy and says, 'Would you like some of my candy?' You say, 'Well, I know I shouldn't take candy from the Devil, but it looks so tasty…I guess one piece won't hurt.' So you stick your hand in the bag, and the bag sucks you down to Hell. You try to climb out of Hell, but when you're almost to the top of the pit, you remember how sweet that candy was, and you slide right back in."

"You know, Zeke," said Mickie, "just because you _can_ make an analogy doesn't mean you _should._"

"Let him finish," said Francine. "This is interesting."

* * *

"Wake up, Frankie."

Her mother repeated the phrase three times, but Francine, her face buried in her pillow, seemed nearly comatose in her unawareness. It was Saturday morning, and the excitement of the previous evening's music festival had apparently sapped the girl's energy.

Mrs. Frensky rubbed her daughter's shoulders vigorously. "You don't want to be late for temple," she said sternly. "Jackie Mason's going to be there, and he won't be holding anything back."

"Urrghh," moaned Francine, waving her arm as she turned over. "Mom, _Christians_ don't go to temple."

"_What?_" said Mrs. Frensky, startled.

"You heard me right," said Francine as she sat up. "I've decided to embrace Christianity."

Her mother sputtered and fought for breath.

"Relax, Linda," said Mr. Frensky, who had stepped into the room. "It's just another of her excuses to sleep late."

* * *

To be continued 


	36. Gentleman's Agreement

Ed Crosswire was fastening his tie. He seldom wore one, even when managing his car lots, but the occasion was special—Meriwether Gelt was about to arrive.

Fern was in Muffy's room, her bare feet resting on a table, learning from her friend the finer points of polishing her toenails. "Muffy? Fern?" said Mr. Crosswire when he spied the girls. "I have very important business to conduct with Mr. Gelt, so I'd appreciate if you would keep quiet while he's here."

Muffy looked at Fern and giggled. "He's afraid we'll scare the money away," she said jokingly.

"You can count on us, Mr. C," said Fern. "We'll be so quiet, you'll be able to hear us think."

"Nobody's quieter than _you_," Muffy teased her.

The old gentleman rapped on the door mere seconds later. Mr. Crosswire allowed him in, and Fern took her first peek at the wealthy stranger. "You're right," she whispered to Muffy. "He _does_ look like the Monopoly guy."

* * *

Try as he might, Binky could find nothing on TV that interested him. "When I was a kid," his father related, "there was nothing but cartoons on Saturday morning. That's not true anymore, now that there are whole channels with nothing but cartoons—but I remember when I would sleep in the living room, so I could wake up early and start watching cartoons right away. Spooky Poo, the Smorfs, Philo the Phriendly Phantom…oh, now I've got the theme song stuck in my head. 'Philo the Phriendly Phantom, phloating down the street…'"

"Geez, Dad," said Binky. "Did _everybody_ watch dorky cartoons back then?"

"Er, yes," his father replied. "You see, there were only three networks."

Mrs. Barnes poked her head into the living room. "Someone's here to see you, Binky Winkums," she announced.

The boy recoiled in fear. Sue Ellen stood in the doorway, a contrite expression on her face.

* * *

While Crosswire and Gelt exchanged pleasantries, Fern and Muffy pretended to be engrossed in their nail-painting activities. Then Fern's sensitive ears detected the sound of a door closing, and the grownup voices became inaudible.

"That's odd," she remarked, placing her newly decorated feet on the carpet. She tiptoed in the direction of the room Muffy's father termed "the office", glancing this way and that as she went.

"What is it, Fern?" asked Muffy, tailing her.

"Shh," whispered the poodle girl. Hanging on the door in front of her was a plastic sign with the words, DO NOT DISTURB. Lifting up one of her ears, she pressed the side of her head against the varnished wood and strained to listen.

"What are they saying?" Muffy inquired in a hushed tone.

"I can't tell," said Fern, her voice almost too low to be heard. "They must be whispering."

"Why would they whisper?" Muffy wondered. "It's just us here, and we don't understand any of that financial mumbo-jumbo."

"Maybe it's not mumbo-jumbo," said Fern seriously. "Maybe they're trying to hide something from us…from _you_."

With that, she grabbed the doorknob, cranked it, and charged forward, nearly knocking the door from its hinges. What she saw in the paper-filled room verified her suspicions. Pointing an accusing finger at Mr. Crosswire and Mr. Gelt, she exclaimed, "Ah-_hah!_"

Muffy gasped in disbelieving horror.

* * *

"You'd better not be here to punch me again," said Binky warily.

Sue Ellen minced slowly toward the couch. "No," she told the boy. "I…I came to apologize. What I did was mean and wrong, and I'm sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't bring back the four pints of blood I lost," said Binky.

The cat girl rested her fingers on Binky's arm, where she felt a number of nascent hairs. "You really _don't_ remember the world we came from," she marveled, "the world where the Yordilians were successful in their conquest of Earth."

Binky shrugged. "I know nothing of any other world."

Sue Ellen's eyes became moist. "Maybe…maybe I dreamed the whole thing," she mused. _And now I'm stuck in your reality, where Earth is still free_, she thought. _I'll just have to deal._

"Gosh, Sue Ellen, are you okay?" said Binky at the sight of the girl's doleful visage.

She sniffled a bit. "Call me Sue," she said. "I'm dropping the Ellen part. It's too babyish."

"Okay, Sue," said Binky.

She leaned forward, bracing herself on the armrest of the couch, and pressed her lips against the boy's rough cheek. "I've been thinking," she said tenderly, her breath massaging Binky's ear, "about what you asked me yesterday…"

* * *

"Mr. Crosswire," said Fern, her eyes and heart full of indignation, "you are one _sick_ puppy."

Muffy's father slowly and sheepishly lowered the optical-fiber dress that dangled from his hands. "Uh, hi, Muffin," he croaked. "Er, ah, you're not gonna believe this, but one of Mr. Gelt's employees found your dress and turned it in."

Overpowered by joy, Muffy leaped into the air and snatched the precious item from her father's grasp. "My dress! My dress!" she gushed, holding it dearly to her bosom.

"What's the meaning of this?" said Mr. Gelt in his gruff voice. "We had an agreement!"

"Uh, yes, that's right," said Mr. Crosswire, his face growing pallid. "We had an agreement to surprise Muffy with it, right after I signed the loan."

The lust in Mr. Gelt's eyes sent a chill down Fern's spine. "Give me that dress!" he snarled, fastening both hands to the article of clothing. So forcefully did he rip it from Muffy's arms that the girl spun around before landing face-down on the floor.

"Muffin!" cried Mr. Crosswire. "You scoundrel!" There was a loud, sudden crack as his fist connected with Gelt's stubbly chin and sent the old man and his cane sprawling.

While Fern helped Muffy to stand, Crosswire placed his shoe atop Gelt's cleanly pressed shirt, pinning him helplessly. Bending over, he rudely pried the alien dress from the oldster's fingers, waved it straight, and inspected it for damage. "This belongs to my daughter, you wretch," he said angrily. "I have no more business with you. _Get out._"

He tossed the white, shining dress into Muffy's waiting hands as Gelt rose to his feet, using his cane for support, and glowered at him. "Heed my warning, Crosswire," he said, backing out of the office. "I'll have that dress, or I'll have my revenge—on you, and your entire family!"

As he hurriedly departed from the condo, Muffy threw one arm around her father's leg while draping her dress over the other arm. "I love you, Daddy!" she enthused. "You saved my dress from that horrible old man! I love you _forever!_"

Fern could only feel moved as she witnessed the scene. _Her father's a hero in her eyes_, she thought. _How can I spoil this for her? How can I tell her that I saw her dad's car driving past the school just before she was robbed of her dress?_

* * *

Alan, his attention gripped by a book about meerkats, was alerted by the cry of a boy's voice from the guest bedroom. _I'm the only boy in the house_, he pondered. _Who could it be?_

Curious, he laid down his tome and walked hastily to the guest room, to find that someone had closed the door. Once it was open, he beheld a sight that stunned him.

Van Cooper was lying, belly-down, on the cold, paneled floor. Van Cooper, the boy with the beak and the legs that didn't work.

The duck boy looked up at Alan with a hint of embarrassment, possibly due to the fact that he was wearing a dress. "Uh, hi," he said bashfully. "Could you, uh, do me a favor, and find my wheelchair?"

Alan stammered in disbelief. "Omigosh…you've…you've changed back! How?"

"How indeed," said Van, holding up his torso with his arms. "I'll tell you as soon as I'm mobile again."

Alan's eyes scanned the room. They scanned the nearby rooms—the living room, the kitchen, the hallway.

"Professor!" he called out. There was no reply.

He turned to face the boy in the dress. "Van," he said with concern, "have you seen the Professor?"

The only response was a quizzical look.

"Van," Alan asked again, "_where is the Professor?_"

* * *

To be continued in Arthur Goes Fifth IX 


End file.
